Cold Hands, Warm Heart
by dragonheart3
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is just your ordinary 20 year old man who works at the family bookstore.  He had a simple, quiet, and comfortable way of life.  That all changed when he found a small boy shivering outside his apartment doorstep. 19th century AU
1. Chapter 1

**Guess what guys, I just realized something:**

**I'm absolutely terrible when it comes to writing stories. **

**I have all these ideas, but I don't know how to start them, what the fill them up with, and how to finish them. It's more than likely that I'm going to abandon this, but we'll see how far we go. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Never have, never will. I only own my lame fanart of them. **

**BTW, this is set in 19****th**** century London. Think Sherlock Holmes-ish setting. That's what I'm going for.**

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><p>Arthur Kirkland had a routine.<p>

He got up every morning at precisely the same time, bathed, had his morning cup of tea, and read the paper. He would then proceed to head down to the family bookstore and resume his job behind the counter, rearranging books and helping customers. It was a bit of a walk from his London apartment, and it did tend to get crowded and lost easily in the busy streets, but he enjoyed his small bit of exercise each day. He lived a quiet, peaceful, and surprisingly easy life for a 20 year old, merely organizing the shelves of books, instead of working at the factories for long hours and little pay, like so many other young men his age. While his job did get a little monotonous at times, he did appreciate his simple lifestyle. Stressful times only occurred when the family held get togethers.

Today was a little different, however.

Instead of waking up on time, Arthur had found that he'd overslept half an hour, and jumped out of bed in a panic, resulting in a stubbed toe against a pile of books set neatly on the floor the previous night. Cursing, he decidedly skipped bathing in favor of quickly brewing himself some quick tea, only to discover he was all out.

Today was shaping up to be a terrible day.

"Miss Nancy!" He called out frustratedly, slamming the cupboards shut. He sprinted across the room, slipping on his coat and top hat, tugging on his shoes as an older came bustling in the room.

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland?" She replied out, entering the room expectantly.

"We're out of Earl's Grey tea," Arthur said, slightly crestfallen. I've ran out already, and I can already feel a terrible headache coming along…" Arthur murmured, tugging his vest together to button up. He looked at her hopefully.

Nancy sighed fondly. "Yes, I'll go pick some up today. Just hurry up, you're already late!" She said, waving him towards the door.

Arthur smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much, Nancy. You really have no idea how much you've already made my day." He strode past her, mumbling a soft embarrassed 'thank you' as she handed him his pocket watch, before jogging out on to the streets, narrowly avoiding the moving crowd, and falling into step with his usual routine, crossing the street before another carriage pulled up.

Eventually reaching his small bookstore, he groaned upon finding a short plump man standing outside looking cross. Said man turned to Arthur with an angry scowl and said, "Mr. Kirkland, you said you'd be here precisely twenty minutes ago. I did not expect such bad service from you."

Arthur sighed and pulled out his keys, and unlocked the door, stepping inside the old but familiar room, the jingle of the small bell making a soft noise. "I apologize Mr. Thompson, I assure you I am usually much better than this. Please, right this way," Arthur said, holding the door open and gesturing inside. The smell of dust and old books greeted them, and Arthur inhaled in contentedly, walking behind the counter and shrugging off his coat. Reaching underneath the counter, he pulled out an old leatherback book, and neatly dusted it off, presenting it to the man. "Your Turkish book on dining arrived late yesterday…" Arthur said, offering the book.

It was a rather slow day, with only six customers at the most, only two of them actually purchasing anything. He made polite conversation with each of them, keeping his eyes on those who went out of his range of sight. By the end of the day, it had begun to get chilly out in the October air, and he locked up and walked home, feeling a bit restless with such a long day.

It was already starting to get dark out, Arthur realized as he pulled his coat tighter to him. One of these days he would have to make himself a scarf to keep warm.

When he walked up the stairs of his apartment, he nearly shrieked upon finding a small boy huddled up on his doorstep. The boy looked up frightenedly, his bright blue eyes looking wildly at Arthur, and attempted to huddle closer in the corner, covering his face as if he were about to be struck. Arthur couldn't help but pity him.

"What in the—" Arthur began, eventually quieting. He paused, looking at the boy for a long time. His small frame shivered from the chilly weather, and he squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to make himself as small as possible. Hesitantly, Arthur reached out and lifted the boy up by his arm.

The little boy reacted immediately, shouting 'no!' repeatedly, and began to viciously kick his legs upon being lifted. Arthur barely managed to dodge a kick aimed wildly at his face, and reddened as bystanders on the street began to stare.

"Shh!" Arthur hissed. "People are staring, stop making such a fuss!" The little boy paid no attention and began twisting around even more. Not long after, he burst into tears, going limp for only a moment, before continuing to thrash about, all while shouting out 'No! No! No!'. Panicking, Arthur swung the door to his apartment open and all but threw the boy inside, locking it behind him. He panted, his face red from effort, and shrugged off his coat and bag. The boy looked at him wildly.

And then he ran.

"No, stop!" Arthur shouted, extending a hand in a vain attempt to lunge at the boy. Picking up into a run, Arthur dashed down he hallway after the little boy, swerving in and out of rooms and hallways. It was exhausting, more of a workout than Arthur had had in weeks. Eventually, Nancy stormed out of a room from upstairs, and bustled down the stairs saying crossly, "What is with all the ruckus?"

Just then the little boy scuffled up the stairs and ducked behind the old woman, startling her by gripping onto the hem of her dress. "Oh!" She cried out, peering behind her. "What is this?" She asked, not unkindly.

"Miss Nancy," Arthur said flusteredly. "I'm so sorry, I did not anticipate such an…appalling entrance to make upon arriving home."

"What do we have here?" She asked, trying to step away from the little boy. He followed her movement, never letting go of the dress. He peered around her fearfully.

"I, er, I don't know." Arthur sputtered out. "I found him on our doorstep, and I assumed, well, er…." He trailed off, realizing that obviously Nancy had no idea who the boy was. "He was just sitting on the steps when I arrived." He finished lamely.

Nancy paused, taking a moment to absorb all the information. Looking down, she asked the boy sweetly, "What is your name, little one?"

The boy looked down shyly, and appeared to begin to introduce himself, before looking at Arthur nervously and surreptitiously close his mouth, looking away.

"It's alright, dear, you don't have to tell us if you don't want to," Nancy said, patting the boy's head kindly. She descended down the stairs, leaving the boy sitting awkwardly on the steps after her.

Placing her hat on her head, she pulled on a thick overcoat, tucking herself away in her old frame. "Well Mr. Kirkland, I'm afraid I must be going. I received a letter earlier today from my third cousin twice removed; his younger brother is ill and needs some taking care of. I'll be out of the country and I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll be sure to send my half of the rent your way, so no worries. I hope it's no trouble to you," She apologized.

Arthur stared, blanking out entirely. "Er, it's not a problem. Completely understandable, what with sick cousins, third removed…" He trailed off, trying to piece everything together.

Nancy smiled. "Don't feel too down without me being here, boy," She said, patting Arthur's head kindly as one would do to a little child. "I'll write you to keep you informed on the situation. I'll be back before you know it!"

Arthur frowned, suddenly wondering what he was going to do without another person around the large apartment. Sure, it was annoying when Nancy brought her old friends over and gossiped all night, but now that she was completely gone, Arthur couldn't help but feel somewhat lonely. His shoulder sagged slightly.

"Wait, Miss Nancy, what should I do with the boy?" Arthur asked hurriedly.

"Take care of him obviously, what do you think?" Nancy replied, opening the door.

Arthur frowned. He wasn't sure if he was going to miss her witty remarks. "But then what?" He asked a little desperately, slightly annoyed at the answer.

"Well he needs a place to stay. Poor thing wouldn't last another night on the streets. It's getting cold out and those clothes aren't enough." She pointedly stared at the little boy's shorts and thin wool coat. Shaking her head slightly, she lowered her voice. "At least take care of him for now; we can take him to the orphanage later. He looks absolutely starving."

Arthur frowned unhappily. "But I don't know how to take care of children," he argued. It came out sounding more like a whine. "Who knows where he's from?"

Nancy gave him a disapproving stare. "Arthur dear, I'm going to be late. You'll be fine, just clean him up, give him something to eat, and then put him to bed. We'll figure it out later when I get back." She opened the door.

"And when exactly is that?" Arthur interjected, becoming alarmed. "I can't take care of a child for God knows how long! Miss Nancy, wait—!" He called out, but it was too late. The old woman had already entered the carriage and called to him a short 'You'll be fine!' that Arthur certainly did not feel. He stared after her unhappily. Sighing, he closed the door softly turned back towards the stairs, where the boy had been sitting previously, listening intently on their conversation.

He was gone.

Arthur groaned.

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><p><strong>Great way to start a relationship, huh?<strong>

**I really don't know where I'm going with this, I only have a vague idea in my head. It ends rather sadly, though. :( But we'll see what happens. **

**I only wrote this because I've been having a dry spell where NONE of the fanfics I'm reading have been updated for a while. Plus, I haven't been seeing stories that I'd particularly like to read (that being said, I haven't been looking too hard. Or at all.), so I finally got off my lazy ass to write what I wanted to see. **

****But I'm only continuing this if I get feedback. I'm not gonna write more if I feel like not enough people are reading it, because then it's really not worth it (not to mention, rather discouraging….) Anything, love/hate/constructive criticism, please tell me! I want to improve, so any feedback is very much appreciated. Five reviews would be nice. ;)**

**That being said, please REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow guys, 9 reviews! I'm so happy, I just want to thank everyone! :D I never really expected anyone to like this, so I was shocked….I hope I don't disappoint!**

**This took a while to think up…I'm kinda playing things as I go, you know? I mean, I have a goal, but I'm trying to make the story longer….I only see bits and flashes of scenes, so I'm trying to incorporate them and add them to my small/nonexistent plotline…**

**Anyways, here's this chapter! I had to scrape it together…it's more of a transition chapter with some light shed. Also, this may not be accurate of how life was during the late 19****th**** century.**

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><p>Arthur did not sleep well that night.<p>

After another session of running around the house like a godforsaken animal chasing after the boy, he had finally given up and collapsed on the bed. It was like a game of hide and seek for the child, and only when Arthur dragged himself up one last time to look for the boy, he found him trembling behind the drapes. It took a while to coax the boy to come out, (Arthur was afraid to touch him, after what happened last time) but eventually he crawled from his spot and finally laid on the couch Arthur offered him to sleep on.

It was a long and exhausting night, and Arthur had mistakeningly thought it was over once he dragged himself into bed.

He couldn't shake the weird feeling that someone _other_ than Miss Nancy was under the same roof as him. It was strange, and it weirded him out. He had no idea who this boy was, or where he _came_ from, yet there he was, sleeping on the couch on the other side of the room.

He tried to convince himself that he was doing something good; an act of kindness, bringing in a lost boy in the middle of October when it was starting to get cold out. He should feel good, shouldn't he? While Arthur was not an extremely religious man, he did attend church whenever he could, and firmly believed that good works would one day come back to him. What goes around, comes around, right? So he shouldn't feel weirded out at all. This child wasn't harmful, he barely looked seven. Everything would be fine.

_Wait. _Arthur's eyes snapped open, just as he was nodding off. _What if he's a little thief? _Pick pocketing was as common these days as breathing, what if this was just a clever scam?

Arthur threw the covers off him and sat up in alarm. He peered at the small form across the dark room. _Oh dear Lord, he must have ran around the apartment in mock fear, pretending to be afraid while really scouting things out! What if there's more of them, lurking around the neighborhood? I can't believe this is happening…_

Arthur jumped off the bed and began padding around the room softly, hiding things of any particular value to him. He already hid three vases, two pocket watches, all his money, his eye spectacles, and a few of his rare collection of books, when he finally realized what he was doing. He stopped in the middle of stashing away his tea set, when he realized the ridiculousness of the situation.

_Wait, what am I doing? I can't believe I thought he was a thief. He doesn't even look like one! I can't believe I let myself think that. Everything will be fine. _ _He's just a harmless, little orphan boy. _

He crawled back to the security of his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, yawning tiredly. Really, jumping to conclusions? He ought to be ashamed of himself.

Wait.

_What does a thief look like anyway? No one notices they've been pick-pocketed until it happens. _

He finished putting away the tea set.

Back to bed.

_Dear Lord, what if he takes my dress clothing to sell? _

He paced to his wardrobe and tucked all the nice clothing towards the back.

_Arthur, snap out of it! Stop being paranoid. Go back to bed. _

Back to bed.

Wait.

_My fine china! I can't lose that!_

Out of bed.

_This is ridiculous. It's nearly one in the morning._

Back to bed.

_Well, it wouldn't hurt to be safe…_

Out of bed.

It was a long night.

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><p>Arthur couldn't remember the last time he woke up feeling quite so terrible.<p>

He dragged himself out of bed groggily, and nearly freaked again upon finding the boy huddled up on the couch, sleeping underneath Arthur's handmade blanket. He had almost forgotten he had company.

_Right. _He thought, recollecting himself. _Looks like another long, stressful day. _He thought as he dragged his hand over his face tiredly.

He began to brew himself some tea (he was never so grateful to Nancy for purchasing the tea as he was today) and walked to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face. He wished he could have taken the time to relax, and let the water seep into his skin and soothe his tension, but if he took too long, he'd be late for work again.

And look where that got him.

After briefly cleansing himself and getting dressed, he approached the small form on the couch and tentatively shook the boy's shoulder lightly. "Hey," he called softly. "Hey. You need to get up."

Slowly, the boy opened his eyes and sat up blearily, and looked around confusedly. When Arthur's face came into view, he shrank back a centimeter, pulling the blanket up higher.

"There's no need to be afraid," Arthur said calmly, putting on what he hoped to be a friendly, comforting expression. "I brought you some food," he said, presenting a small bowl of porridge and bread. "I…I thought you might be hungry," Arthur said lamely. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He noticed the boy looked just as exhausted as he felt.

The boy reached for the porridge and began to nearly inhale the food. Arthur couldn't help but stare. He shook his head. Of course the boy was hungry, he was wandering the streets alone! Arthur should have fed him sooner.

"S-so, anyways, I think now would be a nice time for introductions, seeing as we didn't really get to it so well last night, as you ran away every time I came close…" Arthur trailed off. A little voice in the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously a lot like Nancy's) nagged him, _you are absolutely awful at dealing with children! Introduce yourself first._

"A-anyway," Arthur began, before the situation got any more awkward. "My name is Arthur Kirkland. I work at 'Kirkland's Bookstore' down a few blocks away." He presented his hand out. "And you are?"

The boy stopped eating, and stared at the hand for a while. Slowly, he placed his small hand in Arthur's, and Arthur shook it gently. "My n-name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones." He looked up shyly at Arthur.

Arthur stared at him in surprise. Was that an American accent? "Are you from America?" He asked curiously.

Alfred fidgeted, and looked away before nodding. "Yeah…"

"Really? How strange! How did you get all the way over here? And to be lost…did you loose your mum?" Arthur asked concernedly.

The boy looked away uncomfortably, shifting and pulling his hand out of Arthur's.

"Ah, sorry about that. You don't have to answer." Arthur apologized, as he released Alfred's hand. "Anyway, I have to go to work now, so I brought you some food to tie you over until I get back, okay? Don't leave the apartment without my supervision. I should be back a quarter to four." He stood up and brushed himself off. The two stared awkwardly at each other for a few moments, until Arthur broke it and pulled on his top hat, walking downstairs to the door. He glanced back hesitantly, lingering for a while as he stared back behind him, then left for work.

It was another slow day at the bookstore, which meant that Arthur spent most of it worrying. He kept remembering things he could have hidden, and kept wondering whether the boy left or not; and if he took anything with him. He supposed he should prepare for the worst; he even made a quick list of his expenses, and how much it would cost to buy another set of whatever went missing.

"Mr. Kirkland? Are you listening?" An old feminine voice called out.

Arthur snapped his attention up to the old lady in front of him. "Ah, yes?"

"Have you been listening to me? You seem rather out of it." The woman said, displeased.

"Yes, Mrs. Botts. You wanted…the French cookbook, correct?" Arthur said, moving around the counter to a corner of the store, pulling out several books.

"Yes….you seem distracted today, Mr. Kirkland. I was merely praising your recommendation of last week's cookbooks, but I doubt you've heard any of it." Mrs. Botts said crossly.

"I apologize, I'm a little out of it today." Arthur said, giving the older woman an apologetic smile.

"Is something the matter? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Ah…" Arthur hesitated. "Well…yes. My…nephew is visiting me, and I have no idea how to take care of him. I've never taken care of children before, so I don't know what to do." He frowned.

"Oh, how old is the boy?" Mrs. Botts asked.

Arthur shrugged, bringing the books back to the counter. "About seven, I suppose? He's a small little thing, and he's terribly shy."

"Oh, Mr. Kirkland, that's great!" She said happily, leaning over the counter to touch Arthur's arm. "My boys are all grown up now, so I have no use for their old clothing. I can give it to you, if you'd like?"

"Oh Mrs. Botts, are you sure?" Arthur looked up in pleasant surprise. "That's so kind of you!" He smiled gratefully.

"Don't worry about it, dear. Those old clothes have been taking up space forever, I'm glad I finally have someone to give it to! My sister only has girls, so it's no use giving it to her. I'm glad it will be of some use to someone." Mrs. Botts said excitedly.

"Thank you very much!" Arthur said, shaking Mrs. Bott's hand enthusiastically. "Should I pick them up, or…?"

"Oh, I'll come over and drop them off," the old woman said, waving her hand at the idea. "I want to see this young man!" She grinned.

Arthur chuckled. "Alright then," he said with smile.

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><p>After closing the shop an hour early, Arthur made a quick round of buying food before heading home. He had a little trouble deciding how much of each to purchase, as Nancy did most of the food runs. He ended up picking some bread, a little fruit, and a small piece of meat he was fortunate to find for cheap.<p>

When he came home to the apartment, he was admittedly a little shocked to find Alfred still there. He had almost expected the boy to run off with his things, after all the paranoia he suffered through last night and throughout the day. The boy was curled up on the couch again, almost as if he hadn't moved all day, and wanted to fade away into nothing. However his expression was so peaceful that Arthur didn't have the heart to wake up him just yet. Instead, he attempted to make dinner.

"Bloody hell," Arthur muttered, as he pulled up his sleeves. "Exactly how old is this bread? It's a bit difficult to break …" He mumbled as he snapped the stiff loaf in half. It was perhaps a day or so old, and while the crust was going to be difficult to consume, the inside still tasted fine.

Turning around, Arthur brought both plates towards the couch, and placed them on the coffee table before prodding the young boy up. "Come on," he said, shaking Alfred's shoulders gently. "You can't sleep all day, lad."

Slowly, and seemingly more relaxed this time, Alfred accepted the food and began to eat hungrily while still maintaining that awkward air about him. Arthur shuffled a bit, feeling his nerves prick at him as he stuffed the food in his mouth.

"So, what exactly did you do all day?" Arthur asked quietly. He winced at how the question sounded, almost like an interrogation. Damn. He really needed to work on it and smooth out his rough edges.

Alfred shifted uncomfortably. "Just sleep."

Arthur nodded. "Well that's not very productive, is it?" He brushed his hands off his trousers, finishing his meal. "Ah, you've got a bit of food on your face, lad." He reached over with one hand cupping Alfred's face while brushing off a crumb with his thumb. Alfred flinched softly at the action, and Arthur frowned as the boy pulled away.

"I think you need a bath," Arthur declared suddenly, looking Alfred up and down, noting the dirty face and soot-covered clothes. "You've been on the streets for days, and you look absolutely filthy. Come now, we'll get you cleaned up."

Alfred looked panicked, and Arthur already braced himself for another session of 'running-around-the-house-like-a-mad-man'. "But bathing will get you sick," He protested, leaning away from Arthur.

"That's utter bollocks," Arthur said matter-a-factly. "People are starting to bathe more frequently these days and nothing's wrong with them." He pointed out.

Alfred didn't look convinced. "They are probably going to get sick soon!" He responded stubbornly.

"Nonsense," Arthur said, standing up. He moved around the room, gathering a towel and a rag before heading towards the washroom. Turning on the water, he called, "Come on now, we don't want to make this a hassle." He prayed the boy would come obediently.

Feet padded across the wood floor silently and Arthur looked hopeful towards the door. No one came.

Arthur sighed, and stood up, wiping his hands off with the rag. He walked out of the bathroom and called out a little crossly, "Come now Alfred, it's just a bath."

Starting to catch on, Arthur walked determinedly towards the drapes in the room and threw them aside, finding Alfred huddled in the corner.

"I don't want to take a bath!" Alfred protested desperately.

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur sighed. "It won't kill you, I promise," he said as he reached down and picked the small boy up by the arm, half dragging half leading him towards the tub. After little sleep and much stressing, Arthur was starting to get a little tired of this.

Alfred squirmed, becoming more and more panicked with each step. "Wait, no, please!" He begged, pulling away from the firm grip on his arm. He tugged harder, but the grip just tightened.

Like a caged animal, Alfred began to twist and turn desperately as Arthur tugged off his shoes and socks, narrowly dodging his small kicks. As Arthur managed to throw off the young boy's waistcoat, Alfred made one last attempt to run, dashing towards the door.

"Oh no you don't!" Arthur warned, snatching out and grabbing Alfred by the shirt collar, dragging him back. "Just relax! It's only a bath!" Arthur said, lifting Alfred up.

"No! No! No!" Alfred yelled as he thrashed about, all before he was dropped in the tub as the buttons on his shirt ripped off.

"Oh bloody hell!" Arthur exclaimed as his torso got splashed with water from the commotion. "Now you've done got me soaked as well," he said crossly, feeling a vein poke somewhere. Noticing the ripped shirt in his hands, he looked towards the half naked boy in the tub and muttered, "Well damn. Didn't mean for that to happen…"

Alfred sat stone still in the tub, focusing on something in front of him intensely. Arthur frowned curiously. "Alfred? Are you alright?" He asked in concern, waving a hand in front of the boy's face. Alfred reddened, and he blinked furiously as he moaned softly.

"Oh Alfred, come on lad, there's nothing to be afraid of, it's just water," Arthur said comfortingly as he began to place a hand on the child's back. He stopped halfway and gasped.

Along the skin of Alfred's back was a series of circular burn marks; almost as if inflicted upon with the use of a pipe. Scratches and bruises decorated the soft skin, leaving an appearance of a damaged canvas with blotches of ugly black and blue splotches, and what looked like new recent yellow inflictions scattered in between.

Alfred's face reddened even more if possible, and he ducked his head in shame as he began to cry embarrassedly. Upon taking a closer look, Arthur also noticed more burns and bruises along the boy's arms. Soft whimpers and sobs ripped through the silent room.

Arthur's heart broke.

"A-Alfred…" Arthur murmured, reaching a hand out, but hesitating as he got closer, unsure of where to place it. His throat constricted and his eyes burned involuntarily.

Sniffling loudly, Arthur lost all composure as tears began to flow freely down his face, and he leaned forward, embracing the small boy in his arms as he began to outright cry. At this point, he couldn't even care that he was soaking wet, or the floor was an utter mess. All that mattered was the small broken boy in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around Alfred's small frame protectively, pulling him closer and closer to him. In turn, Alfred buried his face in Arthur's chest as he sobbed loudly, trembling hard as he tried to hide his shame, and all the years of unspoken abuse. Arthur felt absolutely disgusted; not at Alfred, but at the damage done to the child. He was angry already; angry at the person who inflicted this amount of abuse on a small child, angry at horrid marks on Alfred's back, and angry at himself for not realizing right away why Alfred was so timid. Stupid. He felt so stupid. No wonder the boy ran away from him at first. He must have thought Arthur was another person who would hurt him.

Arthur knew this world was cruel. He knew that children were merely property to some people. But this wasn't right. This was wrong. It was wrong to hurt a child, no matter the circumstance or reason. He couldn't believe he never noticed this abuse on the streets before.

He was determined to fix this, to reverse it.

Determined to show this broken boy what love was.

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><p><strong>Wow, well this was a really rough chapter. I hope it's not obvious. <strong>

**So a small little tidbit of information: people back in the 19****th**** century did not bathe often. They did not think it was necessary, and some believed bathing was the reason why people got sick. Bacteria was unheard of at this point in time. **

**But I kind of bent the rules here; Arthur doesn't believe in this and takes baths much more often….probably twice a week or so. It was kind of uncommon. Plus, he's only middle class. **

**And that's about as historically accurate this is going to get. Hahaha. Yay. :P I watched Oliver Twist to get a better idea of the setting. Great movie, very sad though.**

**Please review! I hope this was up to everyone's standards. Writing is hard! D: I can't criticize anyone now. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, first I was just procrastinating and then BAM all my favorite fics get updated~! Not to mention school started so back to an annoying schedule. And soccer, which will now eat up practically 3 hours of my day after school for four days a week…**

**But yeah. **

**BTW, there was a little confusion. Last chapter, when Arthur discovered the burns, it wasn't supposed to be pipe burns, like from a certain Russian's pipe. I meant like, smoking pipes. I didn't want to say cigarettes. My bad. Sorry guys. **

**BTW, sorry for any spelling/grammar issues. I had a little bit of time today, so I wanted to upload this as fast as possible. **

**Anyways, let's see where we go with this…**

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><p>If Arthur was told a week ago that he'd be sharing a bed with a seven year old stray boy, he would have laughed.<p>

Well, actually, no.

He probably would have given said person a disturbed expression, and then would have proceeded with whatever he was doing at the time, choosing to ignore the absurd statement.

Yet there he was, lying in bed with one arm over his forehead tiredly, and the other wrapped underneath said seven year old boy, who was currently tucked into his chest, sleeping soundly.

It was extremely bizarre, when Arthur thought about it. Of course life was meant to be unpredictable, but didn't this sort of thing usually happen to other people? What were the chances of these things actually happening anyway? Maybe he was dreaming, and he'd wake up sooner or later, and everything would be back to normal, or whatever that was anyway.

Arthur turned on his side, and stared at the young boy in the soft light. Alfred slept peacefully, only scrunching up his face briefly at the movement, before relaxing again. Moving his arm, Arthur reached over and gently tucked away a lock of hair behind Alfred's ear, his hand lingering above the boy's head for a second longer to stroke the soft skin. He was a rather good looking little thing, Arthur thought to himself as he felt his heart constrict. He couldn't understand why anyone would inflict such abuse on a child, something that was so innocent, something that was supposed to be cherished and loved.

After the bath debacle, it felt like something had changed. Something that wasn't there before suddenly lingered in the air, but Arthur couldn't quite figure out what it was. Was it protectiveness? He couldn't deny the crushing feeling of anger and anguish washing over him after discovering the marks, and the poor attempts to make them go away by simply crushing the boy into a hug. Was this what it felt like to be a parent? The sudden urge to shield a child from the world, to protect it from all things harmful, and to keep it safe? He had never cared for anyone before, and his family had done a right shoddy job at raising him, so naturally Arthur wouldn't know.

_Who could it have been? _Arthur thought to himself, recalling the ugly burns and bruises. He had looked at them in horror, unable to comprehend such evils. _Was it his father? Or God forbid—his mother?_ Alfred had trembled violently when Arthur reinspected them later, and Arthur subconsciously shushed the boy, giving him a comforting kiss on the forehead. He hadn't even known what came over him, but whatever it was, worked. Alfred had immediately relaxed, and leaned into Arthur, burying his raw face into Arthur's shoulder exhaustedly as he allowed himself to be examined.

They had made it through the bath somehow, with Alfred covered in one of Arthur's cotton shirts. It was too big for him, so it almost looked like a dress, but somehow it fitted the look, as if it were portraying the boy's innocence. Arthur had shuffled about awkwardly after that, opting for the boy to go to bed, only to find Alfred looking up at him shyly. They had stared at each other for a short moment, before Arthur said, "Oh bloody hell. Would you like to sleep in my bed?"

The response was immediate, as Alfred waited for Arthur to get comfortable before clambering into bed next to him. With only a short hesitation, Alfred buried himself as tightly as he could into Arthur's side before falling asleep. Arthur was surprised by the familiarity, but gradually adjusted to it.

Considering what happened, Arthur couldn't bring himself to mind if he tried.

_Well, _Arthur yawned to himself tiredly. _We'll figure things out in the morning. _The last thing he did before he drifted to sleep was pull the blanket higher to cover the both of them.

* * *

><p>A week or so had gone by, and things were steadily falling into a pattern.<p>

Alfred had warmed up to Arthur immediately, and Arthur couldn't help but feel fond of the boy as well.

The mornings were still a drag as they usually were, but they were brightened considerably with Alfred. Even though Arthur tried to slip out of bed without disturbing the boy, he'd often turn around and find him sitting up drowsily, rubbing his eyes as he crawled out of bed, following Arthur around the apartment like a lost puppy. Sometimes Arthur found the action so endearing, he couldn't restrain himself from turning around and dropping to give Alfred a hug. His heart only grew bigger when he felt small arms embrace him back.

Alfred was a smart boy, Arthur decided as he buttoned up his waistcoat while facing the mirror, subconsciously searching for the boy's reflection out of the corner of his eye. In the corner of the room, Alfred had already molded himself to Arthur's habits and schedule, pulling out the tea set from the bottom cabinet, setting it on the table neatly. Arthur smiled to himself.

Leaving for work was the hardest part of the day, because as Arthur headed towards the door, Alfred would hand him his top hat wordlessly, and Arthur couldn't help but linger longer than necessary, even if it made him behind schedule. He couldn't help but feel like he was wronging the child, leaving him alone all day in an empty apartment, but he couldn't quite bring him to work yet either; it was stupid, but he wasn't ready to explain the situation to anyone who bothered asking.

At work, the day was spent managing the store and people watching. It was like seeing the world with new eyes; suddenly Arthur was aware of all the children that littered the streets. Boys rough housing on the streets, girls clinging to their dolls, strays begging for food, all being reprimanded for it by the general public. He wondered mindlessly what life was like through the eyes of a child, through Alfred, and found himself being intimidated by the world. It was cold city; people walking briskly to their destination, beggars pleading at the corners with cold eyes, unfriendly children living down dark alleys….

He'd shake his head, clearing it of its thoughts. He was here to build a better life for Alfred.

By the time work ended, he'd spend just enough to buy food, before hurrying on home to the child that was waiting for him.

"Alfred! I'm home," Arthur announced as he closed the door behind him, trudging up the stairs while balancing two bags of foods in his arms. Footsteps scampered upstairs, and the door to Arthur's room flew open and Alfred launched himself at Arthur's leg, effectively wrapping himself around it.

"Arthur!" Alfred exclaimed happily, nuzzling his head against a spot just below Arthur's hips. Arthur chuckled warmly and said, "Hello, love. Help me with this?" He held out a bag of food.

Removing himself from Arthur's leg, Alfred reached up and held the bag of food, peering into its contents curiously. Striding across the room, Arthur relieved himself from his baggage and began to undress; setting his hat neatly on the table, and hanging up his coat and waistcoat in the wardrobe. Pulling out something from his coat, he said, "Alfred, I have something for you."

The boy turned around curiously, and waited expectantly.

Walking across the room, Arthur knelt down, "I've brought you a book!" He smiled, presenting it proudly.

Alfred held the book, looking at it curiously. He opened the book, flipping through the pages interestedly, stopping every few times a picture showed up. He cocked his head at Arthur. "What does it say?"

Arthur furrowed his brows. "I forget that children aren't taught to read these days." Gently removing the book from Alfred's grasp, he ran his finger along the title and read allowed, "'Grimm's Fairy Tales'. It's a collection of German fairy tales that have been recently translated into English. They're a bit difficult to come by translated, but I managed to find a copy in good condition." He smiled. Patting Alfred's head he said, "We're going to have to teach you how to read."

Alfred smiled, throwing his arms around Arthur's neck. "Thank you! I'm so happy!" Arthur grunted softly as he lost balance, falling onto his backside as his arms supported the boy. He chuckled, and hugged the boy back, reeling at how natural it felt to have the boy in his arms. "Sure thing, lad."

A knock on the door interrupted them, and they both looked towards it. Standing up, Arthur went downstairs to answer with Alfred trailing behind him. Opening the door, a familiar face greeted them.

"Mrs. Botts!" Arthur greet in surprise. "How nice it is to see you." He said politely.

"Arthur dear! It's been only a week, has it? Feels much longer than that, I'll say, but perhaps it's just my old bones!" Mrs. Botts said laughing, pulling Arthur into a tight hug, causing him to grunt softly. "I've brought the clothes! I apologize for the wait, it was an absolute nightmare since my nieces are over and were running about, but I've managed to scrounge up most of it."

"Thank you," Arthur smiled, reaching for the bag. "I cannot thank you enough—"

"Is this your nephew?" Mrs. Botts cooed. She bent down to get a closer look. "Quite a handsome one, if I say so myself!"

Alfred clutched Arthur's leg, peering at the old woman from behind Arthur's knees.

"Shy one, isn't he?" Mrs. Botts observed.

"Yes," Arthur said gently, patting Alfred's head comfortingly. "He's rather…reserved around strangers."

Mrs. Botts made a soft 'hmm' sound. Making her way into the apartment, she said cheerfully, "Well let's see if these clothes fit him, shall we? He's a bit smaller than I imagined."

Arthur blinked at the intrusion. "Of course. We can try them on upstairs," He said as he carried the bag of clothes. Alfred scampered after, maintaining a close proximity to Arthur. He looked back uncertainly towards Mrs. Botts, who just smiled warmly.

Opening the door into the room, Mrs. Botts clicked her tongue in surprise. "Quite a nice apartment room, Arthur! Very big for two boys."

Arthur chuckled politely. "It was pure luck finding this. I have to thank Miss Nancy for sharing the rent with me." Placing the bag down on a chair, he straightened up and excused himself to make some tea. When Alfred pattered after him, he turned and said, "I'll be right back. Keep our guest company, okay?"

Alfred watched him go quietly, looking a little nervous as he glanced back towards the old woman walking around the room, 'oohing' and 'awwing' and Arthur's collectibles. Noticing Alfred walk back, she said, "Excuse me, I didn't mean to be so-oh, hello dear. What's your name, dearie?" She smiled.

"A-Alfred," the boy replied hesitantly.

"Righty then, Alfred. Let's go see if the clothes fit, hm?" She began pulling and setting aside clothes into neat piles on the couch.

When Arthur returned carrying a tray of tea, he was a little baffled at the sight.

Mrs. Botts was holding a shirt, peering over a chair Noticing Arthur, she said, "I don't know what's wrong, but he doesn't seem to like me." She said exasperatedly. She waved the shirt for emphasis.

"He's just nervous," he explained. Setting down the tray of tea on the table, Arthur dropped to his hands and knees. Reaching a hand for the young boy he cooed, "Come out, Alfred. There's nothing to be afraid of, love." Pulling the child out, he asked, "What happened?"

Mrs. Botts shrugged. "I was just trying to measure the shirt against his back when he ran. Don't know what got into the boy."

"Ah," Arthur replied as he smoothed out Alfred's hair, pulling out a piece of fuzz mindlessly. "He doesn't like people touching him."

Mrs. Botts looked at him questioningly.

"People he doesn't know," Arthur amended quickly. "Bad experiences," he continued further when she didn't reply.

She hummed in response again. "I suppose it can't be helped. Don't worry dearie, we're just going to fit you into your new clothing." She gestured towards herself.

"Perhaps I better dress him," Arthur said slowly when Alfred made no movement towards the woman. Mrs. Botts sighed, crestfallen, but sat in the chair eagerly. Taking the shirt, he murmured softly, "You don't have to take off your shirt, lad. Just put this one over. We'll try on a few outfits, and she'll leave." He gently pulled the shirt on Alfred, buttoning it up.

A few outfits later, Mrs. Botts clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Oh my, what a dashing young gentleman! Doesn't he look quite handsome?" She asked Arthur.

Alfred reddened and smiled shyly.

"Very much so," Arthur responded pleasedly, as he tightened Alfred's neck bow. He was rather fond of dressing smartly himself, so he was absolutely enthralled with the fortune of obtaining such nice looking clothing as a gift. Life was playing out well.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Botts said, fanning her red face. She had squealed with delight for every outfit, and insisted that Alfred brush his hair back to complete the look. To say the old lady had a great time would have been an understatement. "It's about time I'd be going. Mr. Botts may be wondering where I am by now."

Arthur stood up. "Would you like me to accompany you home?"

"Oh that's quite all right. I should have a carriage waiting for me outside."

Arthur glanced out the window, surprised. "Oh. I suppose so. Anyway, I can't thank you enough for this, Mrs. Botts. Thank you again."

"Oh enough with the formality, Arthur!" Mrs. Botts laughed, and pulled him in for a kiss to the cheek heartily. "It's my pleasure."

Arthur reddened.

Strolling up to the old lady, Alfred tugged on her dress gently. "Thank you," he said politely.

Mrs. Botts beamed. "You are very welcome, young man. Anything to help!" She placed a kiss on his cheek as well. Walking her to the door, she said one last, "Goodbye!" before leaving.

Closing the door softly, Arthur turned to look at Alfred. "That rather tired me out. How about you?" He asked.

Before he could answer, a knock on the door surprised them both. Arthur swung it open, half expecting to see Mrs. Botts again. Instead, a boy of about twelve stood at the door.

"Letter for Mr. Kirkland," the boy announced, handing over the envelope.

"Thank you," Arthur responded, closing the door. Opening up the envelope, a scowl soon found its way to Arthur's face. Alfred frowned. "What is it?" He asked, tugging on Arthur's shirt.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his eyes irritably.

"It's a bloody family reunion. We're going to Scotland."

* * *

><p><strong>There we go! Finally finished this chapter. I want to apologize for the amount of time it took to update this, but I never seemed to have enough time. Plus it took a while planning it out. But after a lot of thought, I've pretty much finalized the whole story, so now I know what I'm doing. Mostly. Sort of. We'll see as we go. <strong>

**I just want to thank everyone for their kind reviews! 25, holy cow! Thank you everyone for your support! **


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter was such a BITCH to write. That's pretty much the main reason I procrastinated…sorry guys. This one's kind of all over the place.**

**Did you guys know Arthur is actually a Welsh name?**

**Yeah, neither did I. **

**Alfred is an English name, but not much surprise there. **

**I was really unsure of how to handle Arthur's older brothers, but I've decided that I'd use Ireland, instead of Northern Ireland. One, because I don't remember reading anything where Himaruya specified one or the other as England's brother; Two, during the 19****th**** century the formal name of the UK was 'The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland'; and Three, if I used Northern Ireland instead, he'd be younger than Arthur. :l No me gusta. **

**But anyway, Alfred's learning to read! That's probably going to destroy his American accent…ah well. It'll probably be a cute little mix between an American and English accent; absolutely adorable for a little boy. :D**

**I had to do a little research here on the clothing haha.**

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><p>"Can you finish this line for me?"<p>

"…and they…lived….for a long time…ah-fter…?"

"Afterwards."

"A-afterwards, happy and…cohn-ten-ted?"

"Contented. Very good!" Arthur praised.

Alfred beamed, swinging his legs next to Arthur's seat. "I liked that one! What does 'contented' mean?"

Arthur beamed back. "'Contented', or to be 'content' means to…not exactly be happy, but to be more than satisfied with something. To be pleased, I suppose."

Alfred cocked his head. "Are you 'contented'?" He asked, trying to word out on his tongue.

"I am definitely contented," Arthur said, smiling brightly. "Perhaps more than I've ever been!"

"Why are you 'contented'?" Alfred asked. "I thought you didn't want to go to Scot-land."

"Well," Arthur began thoughtfully. "I suppose I'm not very happy leaving my home to attend a far-off family gathering with my elder brothers, but I am more than happy that you are accompanying me." He smiled.

Alfred smiled, tugging on Arthur's sleeve. "Then I'm happy too!" He beamed as he leaned in towards Arthur. "Do you not like your family?"

"Er," Arthur hesitated. "It's not exactly, that is to say, that I don't like them…so much as I'd much rather be away from them." A pause. "I suppose that's not very clear is it?"

Alfred shook his head.

"What I mean to say is that I don't appreciate our…relationship as much as others may. It's a bit difficult to explain," Arthur said. "It's not so much my mother as it is my brothers. They can be so infuriating and dim-witted at times, even though they are older."

"Oh," Alfred mumbled softly, leaning into Arthur, burying his face into his side so that Arthur couldn't see it.

Arthur frowned, moving his arm so that the boy could lean more comfortably. Normally he'd be against such sloppy behavior, but it was just the two of them and it had already been a long day, so he said nothing. "Are you tired?"

He could feel the boy's head nod. "When will we get there?"

"In a few days, I believe."

They had already been on the road for a small number of days, and at the very best, the trip had been an adventure of sight seeing and discovering, and at its worst, been a terrible bore for a seven year old boy who had little to do when sitting in a carriage for hours at a time.

It had taken a while to set things up for their departure; Arthur had to explain to the land lady why he'd be gone for an extended amount of time, and had to promise extensively that he'd continue to pay her on time by sending the money in the mail. She hadn't been very pleased, complaining that she was 'renting out the apartment to people who didn't live there'. She had even come to the point where she threatened Arthur that she'd take her business elsewhere and find different customers. However at that, Arthur sensed that she was only half serious; all traces of doubt had seceded from her when Alfred poked his head in the room anyway. It was amazing how much charm the young boy possessed at such a young age.

She had abruptly stopped in mid-sentence. "Who's this?" She inquired.

"This is my younger brother," Arthur licked his lips, " We're off to see his uncle in Scotland soon. That is if we can arrange everything properly and make it to the family reunion on time. Come say hello, Alfred."

Arthur had realized sometime later he made a mistake in his lie; if they were brothers then they'd _both _see 'their' uncle at the family reunion, making it unnecessary to point out the uncle being related to only one of them. However in the end, the landlady had been too charmed by Alfred to notice anyway.

Managing 'Kirkland's Bookstore' had been an entirely different matter altogether. It had been easy; all Arthur had to do was ask Mrs. Botts if one of her sons were willing to watch the shop over an extended period of time, which went better than expected. The boys had jumped at the prospect of working inside a bookstore rather than the factories, and as a bonus earn a little more than usual. He only hired one of them however; paying all three would have been too costly.

It was around this time that Alfred had been getting antsy.

He had been standing outside next to the carriage they'd depart in, merely watching the crowd as Arthur explained the rules to Mrs. Botts's son next to the counter.

The next thing Arthur knew, Alfred had appeared at his side tugging his frock coat anxiously, asking when they were leaving while casting nervous glances towards the door. He kept fiddling with his hat, tugging it down uneasily, successfully beginning to make Arthur concerned as well. Arthur had hastily wrapped up everything he was saying to his new temporary shopkeeper, and they left in city behind in tense silence. But no matter how much Arthur tried to ask Alfred what was wrong, the boy refused to speak, instead choosing to sit as close to Arthur as physically possible and holding his hand nervously. It had remained like that for the rest of the first day.

Most of the trip had passed with heavy rain, enough for Arthur to fuss over Alfred's clothing. When they were only a day or so away from Edinburgh, Arthur's nerves began to surface.

"Alfred," Arthur said disapprovingly as the boy jumped in another puddle, giggling as the water splashed around him. "You're getting your clothes wet."

Alfred looked up, a smile still shining on his face. "It's okay, I'm wearing my black socks, so you can't see the mud!"

Arthur sighed. "That's hardly the point. Even so, you're getting your shoes dirty. Mrs. Botts would be horrified."

Alfred frowned, looking down at his legs. Slightly upset, he walked back to where Arthur was standing. That was the fourth time that day that Arthur had corrected him sternly, and it was beginning to become unsettling for the young boy. "Are you angry?" Alfred asked worriedly.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Of course not! I'm sorry if it appeared so, I don't mean any of it. I'm not angry, dear boy, just a little…apprehensive." He straightened Alfred's coat mindlessly and tugged down his cap a little farther, muttering about finishing a scarf he recently knitted.

"Apprehensive?"

"To be nervous."

"Why are you nervous?"

"It's complicated. I'm not quite sure how to approach my family after so long…not to mention my new found company." Arthur said with a smile, brushing off Alfred's coat.

"Do you think they'll like me?" Alfred asked nervously.

"Of course they'll like you, silly boy! I just think it wouldn't hurt to behave like a proper gentleman around them. They'll love you, you needn't worry." Arthur said as he guided them back in the carriage, smiling comfortingly. He felt a tad bit guilty for worrying the younger boy over his troublesome problems. He'd have to learn to control his expressions and actions better.

"Arthur," Alfred asked, tugging on his sleeve in full seriousness. "Arthur, do you like me?"

Arthur stared at him in bewilderment. "O-of course I like you! W-why do you ask?" He responded flusteredly, face reddening in emotion.

Alfred beamed. "Because I like you too!" He said, throwing his arms around Arthur's neck. He nuzzled his cold nose against Arthur's neck affectionately. "I want you to like me too!"

Involuntarily, Arthur tensed up. He chuckled softly, slowly but gradually allowing himself to melt against the younger boy's hug. He really needed to adjust to these open displays of affection. He certainly wasn't accustomed to them.

When they finally reached Edinburgh, they had to switch carriages in favor of someone who was more familiar of the country. It had taken a while to find someone willing to listen to Arthur's sporadic descriptions of the destination in the countryside, all while trying desperately to understand each other. Alfred sat on the baggage tiredly as he watched Arthur flush as he tried to make sense of the Scottishman's words. The accents sounded strange to Alfred's ears as well.

When they reached the small village off the perimeter of the capital, Alfred could tell Arthur was getting edgy. His pace picked up, and he began to mutter softly to himself. Keeping silent, Alfred sensed now was not the time to offer conversation.

The dirt road to the country house was long and unforgiving. The hill's steep incline offered no mercy to the weariness of the two boys. The only thing it had to offer was beautiful scenery to look back upon every few yards. Waves crashed at the base of the small mountain, and trees rustled every time the wind picked up, losing a few red leaves each time. Arthur had to call for Alfred repeatedly in short, clipped tones.

For Alfred, the house slowly approaching in the distance was a gift from God. However for Arthur, it was a different matter.

"Okay, Alfred," Arthur said suddenly turning around, causing Alfred to bump into him. He kneeled down and looked at Alfred in the eyes and said, "We're going to meet my family now, and I want you to be on your best behavior. That means bow when you meet them, always be polite, and act like a proper gentlemen, like I taught you. Also, when you're asked a question, be sure to answer clearly and confidently. There's absolutely nothing to be afraid of, I know you'll do fine." He licked his thumb and scrubbed a spot on Alfred's cheek, causing the younger boy to wince. Carefully combing Alfred's hair quickly with his fingers, Arthur exhaled shakily marched towards the house determinedly with Alfred on his step.

Brushing himself off, he offered Alfred a quick comforting smile before rapping on the door with his knuckles. He patted around absently for his pocketwatch in the meantime, then the door swung open swiftly with another man of about Arthur's height, if not an inch taller, leaning against it casually.

"Rhydian." Arthur greeted with a nod of the head.

"Rhys will suffice," the man said. "It's been a while, Arthur."

"Yes, it has," Arthur said stiffly. "Are you going to stand there all day, or need I ask permission to enter from my own brother?"

Rhys sighed, and stood aside with a hand held up as invitation. "You haven't changed one bit."

"I could say the same of you," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes as he stepped inside, carrying his bags. The ceiling creaked as footsteps ran about upstairs, making a dash towards the stairs.

A short, plump lady appeared from the hallway. "Arthur, dear! It's been so long since I've last seen you, m'dear. Where have you been, and why have you been hiding? Would it have killed you to pick up some parchment and write every now and then? My goodness, I have to practically beg you and your brothers just to send me a letter."

"Hello, mum." Arthur said, leaning down for a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Have you been eating enough? I do hope that city air hasn't suffocated your lungs by now, I've seen the smoke from the factories from a distance, and that _cannot _be healthy for a young man—"

"Um, Arthur, what's that?" Rhys interjected, looking behind Arthur strangely.

"What's what?" Their mother asked, peering behind Arthur curiously. She gasped. "Oh dear! Arthur! What exactly is the meaning of this? What have you been doing in that city all by yourself? Have you accidentally picked up—"

"No, it's not that!" Arthur said hotly, his face effectively reddening. "It's not what you think—"

"You had _better_ explain this one_, _Arthur."

"Oh, _this_ will be interesting."

"Well, if you'd give me a minute-!"

Barking was heard outside, and the door burst open to another body. "I've brought back food from the market, and—well, looky here! Arthur arrived." The tall figure said, blowing out smoke from his cigarette, as a dog panted behind him.

"And, he brought company." Rhys added.

"What?" The figure said, noticing the boy and leaning down to get a closer look. Alfred hid behind Arthur timidly. "A child? What?"

"Back off, tosser! You're scaring him!" Arthur shouted.

"Will, just set the food down on the table."

"Wait, wait, Arthur had a child? What the hell is going on?"

"WELL, IF YOU'D LET ME EXPLAIN," Arthur shouted angrily, shielding Alfred from everyone, feeling the boy clench his trousers with small, shaking hands.

A pause.

"You're right, dear. Rhys, go make some tea and we'll move this to the living room so Arthur can explain properly."

* * *

><p>It took nearly half an hour to give everyone the abbreviated story; purposing leaving out Alfred's personal history, plainly inscribed on his back. It was silent afterwards, with only a few questions littering the air, much to Arthur's surprise. By the time Arthur finished, Alfred was leaning heavily against his side, eyelids drooping from exhaustion.<p>

"Is Connor here yet?" Arthur asked suddenly.

"Not yet," his mother responded, eyebrows knitting together after such a long explanation. "He's been in Ireland for some time now doing God knows what; he should be here in the next few days or so."

"He mentioned something about a girl last time I heard of him," William said, blowing smoke from his cigarette lazily. His slight Scottish accent left Arthur somewhat annoyed.

"What?" William deadpanned, brushing off some ash from his pants.

"Stop bloody smoking!"

William blew out more smoke irritatedly. "Don't tell me what to do. Since when did you give two shites about my smoking habits?"

"It's a disgusting habit that is completely inconsiderate to the other people in the room who are left to inhale such waste," Arthur replied stiffly.

"Oh belt up, Arthur, I've seen you smoking a fag before," Rhys said dryly, sipping his tea listlessly.

"T-that's completely beside the point! It was merely experimental, and there's no chance you'd catch me doing it again!"

"Just _what_ is the problem, Arthur?" His mother asked exasperatedly, tired of listening to her sons bicker uselessly. "You've never said anything about it before."

"It's…I'll explain later. It's getting late, so we'll be off to bed. It was a long, and rather exhausting trip, and we're a little worn out from traveling. We'll see you all in the morning."

"The sun's barely set yet," Will commented. Arthur pointedly ignored him.

"The guest room at the end of the hallway, correct?"

"Yes," his mother replied, standing up, watching warily as Arthur lifted Alfred in his arms easily, cradling the boy against his chest. "It gets bitterly cold at night, so the extra blankets are in the dresser beside the bed."

Arthur nodded, and Rhys followed after, carrying the bags languidly. He set them down when they reached the room. "Be sure to close the curtains as well, it helps keep out the cold." Rhys said as he left, closing the door behind him softly.

Arthur watched him leave silently, then softly ushered Alfred out of his clothing. "C'mon lad, you'll be much more comfortable once you're out of these clothes."

Alfred sighed sleepily. "I'm cold," he mumbled softly, struggling to keep his eyes open. He shivered as Arthur tugged on a softer, cotton shirt over the boy's head. Slipping off the boy's shoes and pulling off his cap, he murmured, "I know, just a moment." Slipping out of his own clothes into something more favorable, Arthur suppressed a shiver as he reached into the dresser and pulled out several more blankets, sighing in relief as he pulled out a quilt.

Slipping into bed, Arthur hastily pulled the covers over the both of them, and laid down tiredly. Immediately a smaller body curled up around Arthur's side, shivering gently. "G'night, Arthur." Alfred sleepily, tucking himself as close to Arthur as possible.

"Good night, lad." Arthur replied tenderly, kissing the boy's head softly. Pulling the covers up, he relaxed and placed an arm over Alfred's body, subconsciously pulling him closer.

In the next few minutes, both boys were already fast asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, that was rough! I would <strong>_**sure**_** love getting some feedback from anyone who's reading this! I stayed up an hour past my bedtime to finish this for you guys. **

**How about some reviews as motivation for the next chapter? ;D **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! Sorry, I've been gone for so long, I was suffering through a terrible case of writer's block, and to make it worse, suffered from a TERRIBLE case of "No time for ANYTHING". Seriously, every week was packed with something or other, leaving literally **_**no time. **_**I participated in this thing called "Model UN" with my school, and it was literally like a Hetalia World Meeting. It was awesome! I was Mexico! Not my first pick, but definitely not bad. We debated over Nuclear Non-Proliferation and Cyber Warfare. And as Mexico, there wasn't much to say. :P It was still fun though. It was like a live action [serious Hetalia World Meeting] role play. Righteous. **

**But the worst part is, **_**I still have stuff I need to get done**_**. I'm behind on three of my friends' birthdays! One of them was in OCTOBER. And when there WAS leftover time, I couldn't think of how to approach this story and lazed about on tumblr. Yeah. :P**

**Did anyone participate in NanoWrimo? I tried, and failed miserably. I actually used this story, and restarted it from the beginning, going into more depth and detail, and formed my own characters to go along with it. The only problem was, having no time, I decided I'd write everything in a composition notebook, so I could work on it during and between classes. Several of my friends tried to do it with me. We failed. **_**Miserably.**_

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please excuse all grammatical errors.**

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><p>William woke up to a loud bang, and then a crash.<p>

He rolled over, grumbling to himself as he pulled the covers higher and the pillow over his head, squeezing his eyes shut in attempt to fall back into the blissful state of sleep. His drowsiness almost lulled him back to sleep, had it not been for the smell.

William jolted up in bed suddenly, looking around in alarm. The distinct smell of smoke drifted into the room, and he tossed the covers off in a panic. _Not a bloody fire in my house! _ He thought to himself resolutely. Throwing on his extra nightshirt tightly around him, he swung open the door and dashed out into the hallway, sprinting to the kitchen. What he found, was not at all what he was expecting.

Arthur was seated next to the stove, opening the small latched door and poking around the coal with a long wooden stick. He moved around a few coals, before closing the stove's small door. Whatever was in the pan was smoking softly, and upon taking a closer look, William could only vaguely make out small pieces of black lumps.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asked incredulously.

Arthur jumped, startled by William's presence. "Would it kill you to say 'good morning'? Bloody hell, you scared me!"

"Nevermind that, just what exactly were you doing a few minutes ago? Intentionally trying to burn down my house?" William accused, his voice steadily rising.

"I was simply making breakfast, you tosser! Why the hell would I want to burn down your house? What are you so jumpy about?" Arthur shot back, immediately becoming irritated with his brother's tone of voice. Not only did it piss Arthur off, but it was making it difficult for him to understand what he was saying through his thick Scottish accent.

William marched and snatched the stick Arthur had been using out of his hands. "_This,"_ he said, waving it around in Arthur's face, "is a bloody stick, you idiot! It's wood! That means it's flammable! So poking it around the coal in the stove is a bloody stupid idea, you dim-wit!" He marched over to the window and tossed it out, muttering about the cold gust of air that greeted him as he did so. Christ, it was _too early _for this idiocy.

Arthur reddened. "Well perhaps if you put all the kitchen instruments in the _correct_ spot of the kitchen (namely hung on the wall like a _bloody normal person)_, one wouldn't have to resort to such pre-historic methods of cooking!" Arthur gestured to the empty nails on the wall, where a single kitchen pan and wooden spoon hung about lonely. Arthur huffed slightly, realizing he was getting worked up over nothing, but didn't want to be the one to back down.

"All of my kitchen tools are supposed to be on the wall, you must have moved them!"

"Why in the hell would I have moved them if I were so obviously going to _use _them?"

"Perhaps you ruined my pots and pans trying to cook whatever the hell you were trying to cook, and decided to hide the evidence to avoid confrontation!"

"This is bloody ridiculous!" Arthur said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I didn't touch your pots and pans, _nor_ did I in any way damage them with my cooking! I'll have you know my cooking is not that bad—"

"'Not that bad'"? William repeated. He peered around Arthur's shoulders at the black mess in the pan. "And what in the world is that? You're supposed to _burn_ the coal, not cook it!"

"That would be eggs, you git! I'm sure they taste perfectly delicious, I"ll have you know!"

William rolled his eyes dramatically, and picked up a large blackened lump despite Arthur's protests. He whistled, and his dog Balfour came trotting in lazily. Wagging his tail, he sat in front of his master obediently.

William dropped the piece of blackened egg to the floor, and it landed with a soft crack, splitting apart into small pieces. Balfour bent down and sniffed it curiously, looking back up to his master questioningly. It was silent.

"Even Balfour won't eat it," William commented. Arthur flushed in embarrassed anger.

"Goddammit, fine!" He shouted heatedly. Taking the pan, he went back to the window and dumped everything out, slamming the window closed when he was done. "I'm still bloody practicing, it doesn't give you right to be such an arse about it!"

"Better to be an arse about it than let that toxic waste be consumed by some innocent bystander!" William exclaimed.

"Well, I have to _try, _I need to improve!"

"Improve all you want, just not in _my _house, with _my _food!"

"Well, what the hell else am I supposed to feed Alfred?" Arthur questioned, fuming.

"You were going to _feed_ that to Alfred?" William said in horror.

"Well, maybe not that batch," Arthur amended hastily. "But I have been cooking his meals for weeks and he has done nothing but praise it! He actually enjoys my food, thank you very much!"

William paled. "That poor child," he said, shaking his head sadly. "You must've burned away his tastebuds."

"_Don't be so bloody dramatic!"_

Footsteps padded down the hallway, and Rhys walked in rubbing his eye tiredly, breaking apart the argument. "What are you guys yelling for?" He asked in a sleepy irritated voice. He yawned widely, blinking his eyes a few times to adjust to the lighting.

"William is just being a bloody prat, the usual," Arthur replied, folding his arms haughtily.

"Arthur was attempting to burn down my house," William countered accusingly.

"You don't have the proper tools to cook!" Arthur exploded angrily, throwing his arms in the air.

"_You _must've moved them!"

"I didn't touch your damn kitchen instruments!"

"Well where else could they have gone? Did they grow legs and walk away?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Wait, wait," Rhys cut in, holding his hand out as if he were to stop the conversation physically. "I was cleaning them last night, and I left them outside in a bin to dry. They should still be out there, unless someone moved them. Or stole them," He added.

Arthur threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, and slammed them against the wall. "Of course," he said. "Of bloody course." Turning back around, he glared at William. "I think you owe me an apology," He demanded, his eyes flashing challengingly.

"Apology for what? For telling you your cooking sucks? I refuse," William said stubbornly, jutting out his jaw firmly, looking away. "I refuse to withhold the truth. Not to mention you probably _were_ trying to burn down my house."

"Oh, _I'll_ tell you what I'm going to try to burn," Arthur began threateningly.

"Arthur," Rhys said warningly.

"He started it!" Arthur yelled, pointing his finger at William. William scowled, merely rolling his eyes.

"You are both idiots," Rhys muttered, pushing them both out of the way to get around the kitchen. "Where's mum?" He asked as he opened the cupboards, scavenging for something edible to eat.

Arthur scoffed irritatedly, ignoring the question, and stomped out of the room. William sighed, and said, "She probably went out to purchase some food. She usually leaves early in the morning." Rhys hummed in response, watching Arthur leave. He raised his brow at William.

"What?" William replied defensively.

"Try not to be a prat so early, he's only been here for a day and you two are already fighting."

William scowled, and muttered something to himself softly. Rhys rolled his eyes, and breathed into his hands, trying to warm them up. At that moment, Balfour began to bark at the door excitedly. "Must be mum," William commented, and moved to answer the door. The old woman entered the door with two big bags full of food and set them down on the table, face flushed red. "Good morning, boys!" She greeted with a smile. "It's dreadfully cold out there, close the door quickly, Will."

The two older boys crowded around the food, as their mother began to take off her outer clothing. Rhys pulled out an apple and began to take a bite before his hand was slapped harshly by his mother. "Ow!" He exclaimed, dropping the apple and earning himself a snicker from William. He rubbed his hand, glowering at his brother.

"Not yet," his mother said disapprovingly. "We're going to eat together as a family, or at least attempt so until Connor arrives. Where is Arthur, anyway?" She inquired, beginning to unload the contents of the bags.

"Probably in his room sulking," William muttered, earning himself an elbow to the ribs. His mother looked at him questioningly.

"Him and Arthur got into a bit of a fight this morning," Rhys explained nonchalantly, attempting to reach towards the apple again, only to receive another glare. He retracted his hand silently.

His mother sighed dramatically. "Call him down, along with Alfred, and we'll eat."

William turned towards the hallway, and was about to being shouting when Arthur walked in, followed by Alfred at his feet. "Save your breath, don't bother. We're here." Alfred rubbed his eyes tiredly.

The boys' mother crouched down upon seeing Alfred. "Hello darling, how are you?" She greeted, extending her hand out kindly. Alfred paused, staring back at her shyly. Arthur nudged him along encouragingly, a fond smile forming on his lips, all previous tension merely melting away. Alfred stumbled forward, and mumbled a soft, "Hello."

The following days were relatively the same, with each member of the family dividing to do their own activity of interest. Arthur tended to occupy himself with Alfred; whether it be exploring the hillsides, teaching the boy to read, or endeavoring to see as much of the country's capital as possible. Arthur found the whole trip to be entirely tolerable so long as Alfred were there to accompany him. When his brothers came back after a long day, Arthur didn't mind their presence as much as usual. Tedious chores such as purchasing food became a delight. Alfred gradually became more familiar with Arthur's family, and wasn't as shy or reserved as he initially was.

Except for William.

"Why doesn't he like me?" William demanded, sitting at the table, twisted in his seat looking at the boy, who was presently resting his chin against Arthur's knee, as the older boy took to embroidering.

"Perhaps he just isn't fond of you," Rhys said mindlessly, as he sat at the table looking over a stack of documents. As a registrar, his job required him to register all events, such as land purchases, marriages, deaths, and birthdates.

"I don't understand why," William said as he began rolling a cigarette. He swiped a match and lit the end of the stick, waving the small flame away. Puffing out a breathe of smoke, he continued, "He's opened up plenty to you all. Friendly, even. Yet he remains more reserved around me. It's unsettling, really."

Their mother frowned at the smoke, but continued at her spot on the counter, kneading a mound of dough vigorously. "Have you considered spending more time with the boy?" She suggested, slapping more flour on the mass. Will watched her silently for a moment.

"I wouldn't know what to do with him," he confessed, leaning back in his chair. He puffed out more smoke. Balfour sneezed, sitting at his master's feet.

"You just need to get to know each other better," his mother replied. "Why don't you take him down to the city and find out when Connor's train arrives? He should be here any day now."

William contemplated it. "I suppose," he said. "What of Arthur?"

His mother 'tsked' in reply, and waved her hands, as if shooing away the notion. "That boy has hardly spent any time with his dear old mother, it's about time he does so and helps out with the chores. What is a family reunion of there's no family interaction? It's past time we pry him away from his shell, or rather, his new 'toy'. It's like this every year, any method of escape and he's gone. Yes, that's it. Take Alfred to Edinburgh."

William nodded, realizing something to himself. He stood up.

"Alfred, dear, why don't you go with William down to Edinburgh? It's a lovely day out, and we're curious as to when Connor will arrive. You'll like him, he's a fine lad."

Visibly, from across the room, Arthur bristled. "What?" He asked. "What would he want to do that for? It's a tedious job, and it would only take a few minutes of inquiry to solve the question. William can do it himself."

"No, I think it's time for Alfred to visit the capital through the guide of a local. It's more constructive than you two boys wandering the streets like beggars."

"We do not 'wander' the streets!" Arthur objected, putting down his embroidery. "And I suppose I may as well come too, seeing as I hadn't planned much for today besides continuing yesterday's lesson teaching Alfred to read. Let me get my jacket. Come along, Alfred."

"That won't be necessary!" His mother called from the kitchen. "Don't you think it's time you spend some quality time with your mother? You hardly speak to her, let alone even breathe in the same room as her for longer than a few minutes at a time. Come now, don't make that face, there are plenty of things to do to keep us occupied for the day."

Arthur sputtered. "I do! I do spend time with you! And why is William taking Alfred, anyway? And there's not much to do around here."

"Nonsense," his mother replied. "We can wash the clothes and dry them outside. Looks like today is the last day of dry weather for the season. And perhaps I can even teach you how to cook. I have a few recipes in mind for you."

Rhys and William snickered in the background. Arthur scowled.

"I don't see the point of this," he muttered under his breath. Alfred looked up at him uneasily.

"Come on, lad," William called from the door. Balfour barked excitedly, wagging his tail at the door in eager anticipation.

"Just a moment," Arthur retorted. "Come, Alfred, let's fetch your hat and coat. It looks cold out there. Oh, and your scarf will be needed."

William rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically as he checked his pocket watch. Arthur ignored him.

He led them back to the door, and said after a pause, "Alright. I suppose that's it."

"Come off it, Arthur, you're smothering him."

"It's cold out there, it's not unreasonable to dress appropriately for the weather, William!"

"That doesn't mean you have to dote on him and worry excessively!"

"Why must you two always fight?" Their mother said, throwing her hands up exasperatedly.

"Close the door, you're letting the cold in," Rhys said irritably, snatching a document before it flew across the table.

"Alright, we'll be back in a few hours."

"Alfred, button your coat, it's cold—"

"Good _Lord_, do you even hear yourself right now? You're like a fussy old woman—"

"Exactly what's this about fussy old women?" Their mother interjected, placing her hands on her hips expectedly, effectively covering her dress in flour.

"Goodbye!" Rhys shouted, and slammed the door, successfully achieving silence.

"And good riddance," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, so this was, in a way, a filler chapter. Things should pick up next chapter. <strong>

**I have to admit, one of the few motivations I had of this chapter was **_**none of my favorite fanfictions were being updated. **_**There is absolutely **_**nothing**_** worse than staring at your empty inbox, waiting an update that hasn't come in WEEKS. So my alternative is tumblr haha. **

**::: ((((By the way, if anyone wanted a visual of what I imagine Alfred to look like in this story, check out my profile picture! I updated it for you guys! :D )))):::**

**Please review! All reviews will warm my heart and inspire/motivate me to write more! ;D I'm going to try review replying now; I'm usually too shy to do so, but I want to thank you all for your support! :) Review review! /shot**


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh God, you guys, I'm SO sorry for taking so long with this! I really loved reading all of your reviews! This chapter is kind of a monster; I swear, I only had two things outlined for this chapter but it **_**just kept getting longer. **_**I hope the length makes up for the long wait. ;_;**

**A **_**lot**_** of stuff happens in this chapter and I couldn't break it up properly, so I'm sorry if it's just one event after another! It's pretty fast-paced, so be warned.**

**(And I'm still working on fleshing out each of Arthur's brothers' personalities. :l Sorry if You can't get a definite reading on that. Working on it!)**

* * *

><p>It wasn't so much that William disliked children, as it was that he didn't know how to deal with them.<p>

He supposed he should have known better, considering he was the oldest of the four brothers in the family, but looking back now, William found that he couldn't really remember doing anything extraordinarily memorable that would be characteristically categorized in the 'good old brother' memory slot of his mind. In fact, if anything, all he could remember was being closest to Connor and always running out of the house. Rhys tended to keep to himself, immersing himself in his books or something while the two older boys took off.

As for Arthur, well, he was around there somewhere, right?

One thing William tended to remember from his childhood was Arthur attempting to tail the two boys every so often. It had become a game almost, to see how far and fast they could outrun the younger boy. They'd run out in the fields and hide in the trees, seeing how long it'd take before Arthur would give up and leave. Connor encouraged it greatly, and always seemed to find the best hiding places. It didn't help that the age gap between the two boys and Arthur had probably segregated them physically as well as emotionally even more so.

Looking back now, perhaps William hadn't been the best older brother. Thinking back thoroughly, William was actually a really shitty brother. A really, _really, _shitty brother. He could definitely remember being a complete arse deliberately, and not just to his family. Where did he pick up such traits, anyway? He didn't think he was _always_ like this.

He sighed, scratching the back of his head. He pulled out another cigarette, and puffed from it easily. "So, Alfred," William began uncomfortably. He glanced back at the pale boy who trailed him a few feet behind, watching him warily. "What is it you like to do for fun?"

The boy looked at him confusedly. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"Come on, lad, you're falling behind," William encouraged, waving the boy with his hand in a swift movement. Alfred stumbled faster cautiously, keeping his distance from the man. William sighed. Perhaps his expression was a little too gruff. But it was just how his face relaxed naturally, or so he told himself.

"So how exactly did you meet Arthur?" He asked lightly, not wanting to frighten the kid.

Alfred shuffled nervously (_what was up with this kid?)_ and stuttered, "O-on his doorstep. It was raining and he let me inside."

William snorted. "That sounds awfully uncharacteristic of him. He's usually very distrustful of people. I'm surprised he acted so kindly. Where are you from?"

Alfred paused, taking a while to think. "Some place far away," he finally settled on saying. "Where the people don't talk funny."

William barked a laugh, startling the boy and causing Balfour to pause ahead of them and look back curiously. "Aye, I suppose we _do_ sound funny to you. Though I wonder how a lost American boy found his way all the way across the Atlantic. Must've been a hell of a trip. Don't you have a mum?"

Alfred didn't say anything, but instead chose to stare hard at something in front of him. He sniffled quietly to himself, and rubbed at his face as he pulled down his hat conspicuously, trying not to cry.

"Hey now," William said hastily, holding his hands up cautiously. He tried to bite back the panic rising in his throat. Dealing with a kid was one thing, but dealing with a _crying_ kid was a whole other thing. "Forget I said anything about it, okay? It's alright, and I know what it's like to lose someone. Our father walked out on us when I was a kid. Well, more like a little over twice your age, but it was enough to unsettle me thoroughly. Is your father still around?"

Alfred sniffled, and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I don't think I have one," he said quietly.

"At all?"

Alfred shrugged.

"That's alright. They're absolute worthless bastards, and it turns out I never needed one in the first place, and I turned out all right." He paused, suddenly thinking about what he was saying. Shaking his head, he continued, "You just gotta man up, you know? You learn not to take shit from anyone. Oh hell, don't repeat that. Arthur won't be too happy if he catches you sayin' that."

"Saying what?" Alfred asked curiously.

"Nothin'," William replied smoothly, patting the boy's shoulder. Alfred jolted, and shrugged off the man's hand half heartedly. William blinked in surprise.

"Relax kid, I ain't gonna hurt ya'," William assured, holding his hands up innocently. He didn't understand why the kid seemed to be on constant edge around him all the time. Did he come off as menacing? Threatening? Whatever it was, it was a little disheartening for the Scottish man, and it dampened his spirits a little, even affecting his pride to a small extent. To have such an effect on someone unintentionally was saddening, especially in the case of a young child. Arthur he could understand; perhaps he could even shoulder the blame for that failed relationship, seeing as he never made any attempts on building brotherly feelings, well, _ever. _ If anything, he probably caused the rift. But he understood the consequences and accepted the dynamics; it was something he could live with and not feel too guilty about as long as they were still on speaking terms. It didn't help that Arthur was such a stuck up, stubborn prat either, but he supposed that was what the term 'family' entailed (and a lot of Arthur's traits were so laughable—embroidering? Really? He was just _asking_ for it).

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he said, "Come on kid, we're taking a turn here." Perhaps he said it a little too gruffly (he couldn't help it!), because Alfred hesitated following him, and asked, "Isn't the town that way?", pointing down the road.

William whistled, and Balfour darted back to his side, following the man into a thick field of flora. "We're taking a little detour. Now hurry up, we don't have all day." He slipped a pocket knife from out of his sleeve and opened it easily, fiddling with the blade mindlessly.

Alfred paled.

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><p>"This was the stupidest idea in the world," Arthur grumbled to himself as he helped his mother bring out the basket of laundry. He all but slammed it down next to the wash bin and sat down nearby, huffing to himself.<p>

"Oh, stop fussing over it. You practically spend every minute with the boy. It can't be healthy." His mother replied nonchalantly as she sorted out clothes, tossing them into different piles in different bins. "You're going to want to roll up your sleeves dear, the water tends to splash."

"Ugh, it's freezing," Arthur complained with a put-upon expression, but followed instructions nonetheless. "Why isn't Rhys out here helping us?"

"He's working in the living room, now stop complaining. He helped out with the clothes long before you and Alfred arrived."

Arthur scowled, grumbling softly in response.

His mother cooed as she held up a small pair of trousers. "Oh, how cute! These must be Alfred's. I remember when you boys used to wear these." Arthur rolled his eyes. The old woman admired the article of clothing in a bout of nostalgia, before folding them up and tossing them in the soapy warm water basin. "Now come over here, dear. Take the clothing and scrub it like _this, _okay? Not like this, like _this." _She demonstrated. "Be aware of the seams and the type of fabric before you put any amount of pressure, understood?"

"I understand," Arthur sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd been taught that particular routine, but his mother felt the need to explain it to him _every_ time any of the boys washed clothes. "I know how to wash my clothes, mum, I'm not _Connor._" Arthur emphasized, and couldn't help but snicker to himself. His mother chuckled as well, a smile forming on her face.

"Yes well, I just don't want any repeats. It was absolutely exasperating as well as bothersome to entrust any one of you boys to a job, only to find that you had busted the seams in your trousers. It was absolutely maddening to repair them; hardly any stores sold the exact some buttons and the same fabric. Connor had to wear his only other pair for nearly a week, and it was absolutely horrifying, as his only other pair were dirtier than a pig's pen."

Arthur laughed. "Served him right," he commented, grinning to himself as he scrubbed Alfred's clothes gently. He wrung out the trousers, squeezing out all the warm water into the bin, before hanging it up on the clothesline. He gazed at his work proudly.

"So Arthur, are you going to tell me the story of how you found Alfred, or not?" He mother asked, snapping him out of his admiration. He bristled, and then resumed his position at scrubbing more clothes.

"I…" he began, unsure of how to start. He sighed, scratching the back of his head. "He showed up on my doorstep a few weeks ago," he replied bluntly, as he soaked pair of socks. "He was so little and he looked starving, and it was raining and he looked ready to pass out at any moment. He was shivering and dirty, so I took him in. Miss Nancy, the lady whom I share the rent with, encouraged me to clean him up and take care of him. And ever since then, Alfred's been at my side."

"Who's this 'Nancy' woman?" His mother asked distractedly.

"Some old widow. She's close to your age, no need to be concerned," Arthur clarified, smirking to himself. His mother nodded approvingly.

"Has she helped you take care of the boy?" She asked.

"She has for the first…" Arthur trailed off. He paused, thinking back. "Actually, no. Not at all. But I don't resent her for that, despite her deep persuasion for make to take Alfred in. I've actually been a lot happier since," Arthur admitted self-consciously, a small smile forming at his lips. He scrubbed a pair of socks.

"That's wonderful, dear," His mother replied earnestly, hanging a button shirt on the line. "But where did Nancy go?"

"She had to take care of some family relative somewhere in continental Europe. I hadn't really paid much attention, to be honest."

"I see. How does it all work out with Alfred?"

"Quite smoothly, actually. I usually wake him up, and we go to work together, where I'll teach him the basics of reading, writing, and a little history while I manage the shop. Sometimes when he's feeling restless I'll send him to deliver some books to a few customers, and he'll usually purchase the paper for me. When we have extra time, we'll go to the docks because Alfred likes to watch the incoming ships and cargo unload. And if we ever have any spare money, I'd like to take Alfred to the theatre."

"That sounds lovely! It's not easy, is it?" His mother grinned. "Now you know exactly what you four boys did to your dear old mother. Absolutely exhausting, isn't it?"

Arthur chuckled in defeat. "Yes, it _is_ exhausting. I crawl into bed feeling absolutely drained and lifeless every night, but somehow manage to make it work by morning. Miraculous, isn't it?"

"The life of a parent," his mother replied dramatically. She paused, furrowing her brow. "Or guardian. Whichever. I must admit I never expected to have grandchildren this soon. If anyone, at least William. Whenever I try to mention it to him, he merely brushes it off. Sometimes I worry about that boy."

"Only 'sometimes'?" Arthur joked. He hung up another button up shirt. "If anything, he'd probably be a terribly parental figure. I wouldn't put it past him to terrorize his kids and then accidentally kill them."

"Arthur!" His mother exclaimed in shock.

"Okay, okay," he replied hastily. "Perhaps that was a little antagonistic. I just can't see him being a good parental figure, when…he wasn't exactly the nicest brother to me." He mumbled in a rush.

His mother pursed her lips tensely. "I know William hasn't exactly been the best brother to you, or Connor for that matter…and oh hell, even a little of Rhys. This whole family is a little mad. But I've done my best to raise the four of you on my own, especially ever since your father walked out…. I know you don't remember him well, but William took it pretty hard. He turned into a bit of a rebel after that, a little wilder, but I think he's still in the right place. He may have been rough (as well as Connor, _especially_ Connor), but in a way, I've seen it help both you and Rhys grow up into who you are today. My boys are strong as well as polite, so I am glad to have at least taught a little manners in between all of your rough housing. You used to be so helpless, and now you stand well on your own. I'm not saying it was the best approach, nor was it the best older brother conduct, but in the end, I think you each turned out well enough."

Arthur paused. "Well," he said after a moment. "He didn't have to be a damned twat about it. I think him and Connor throwing me into the lake hardly counted as swimming lessons. Nearly damn well drowned over it."

His mother sighed at the memory. "Yes, they each earned a hard slap after that disaster. Though I have to tell you, even though I promised not to tell, there's a deeper reason for that."

"What is it?" Arthur asked curiously, furrowing his brow.

The shutters of the window nearby bursted open, revealing Rhys hanging out languidly. "I remember that," he said dully. He gave a pointed look to their mother. "And you promised you wouldn't say anything."

The old woman pursed her lips and looked away. "It's been a so many years, it couldn't hurt now. And I can see Arthur is still bitter about it."

"Bitter over what?"

"I don't know," Rhys trailed off.

"What? What is it?" Arthur repeated, becoming irritated.

Rhys folded his arms and leaned out the window, sighing. "Back when, to whenever it was, Connor overheard the neighborhood boys were planning to throw you into the lake, for whatever reason. We don't know exactly what their motive was, though I suspect you were a target to get back at William. He sort of had a rival at the time. It was a long series of events, I forget how long it went, but I think it had started with a girl they both fancied at the time.

When Connor told Will, he was absolutely furious. He claimed it wasn't 'fair' to target the young ones, because the young kids were considered 'weak' and would remain untargeted. This was never actually said out loud, but Will figured it was an unspoken agreement. In fact, the rivalry actually only consisted of Will and the other boy, whom I believe was named Henry Helling, but over time it began to involve Connor, and then me, and soon most of the boys in town had chosen a side. Since William was pretty much the leader of our 'group', our little gang became known as 'The Kirklands'. Members or those associated with us were labeled 'Kirks'. Henry Helling's gang was naturally called 'the Hellings', and individuals were known as 'Hellers'. Everything suddenly became very territorial. There were boundaries, and certain places you didn't go alone."

Rhys licked his lips. "You were an idiot, to be blunt. No, really, you were!" He said, shrugging at Arthur's irritated scowl.

"We told you not to go certain places, but being the stubborn brat you were, you didn't listen. You'd wander around freely, and almost _always_ walked into specific key locations we called 'hot spots', because there was always someone from their team watching, or almost 'guarding' the area. You thought we were kidding. We told you not to walk around the east side of town, but you just _had _to bloody well walk there_. _There were a few close calls sometimes, and Will had to drag your stupid sorry arse back, and eventually we had to get everyone on our side to keep an eye on you. There was a reason we didn't want you following us. We didn't want you to be a part of it. William even tried to push me out of it, but I had already been identified. Many of the adults suspected something was going on, but they never caught anyone specifically in a brawl. Most of the things that went on were unnoticed.

Well, William was pretty livid when he found out what was being planned. I remember those weeks; he was a bit snappier and rougher than usual. He wanted you to stay low and out of the way, but it ended up having the opposite effect, seeing as you always bolted into trouble anyway. Damn idiot. Hell, even I wanted to knock some sense into you.

Eventually, after a few weeks of suspicion and keeping as best of a watch on you as we could (damn, it was bloody well exhausting _and _nerve wracking!), William finally caught a Heller tailing you one day. It was along the docks, so it was the ideal situation for the Hellings to push you into the water. I remember that day, it was bloody freezing. Henry was following you around a corner when Will finally ripped into him. He must have had boys stationed around the area, because suddenly everyone sprung out. It turned into a huge massive brawl between both parties, and suddenly everyone was going at it. Boys came running in, fists came flying everywhere, and amazingly enough, you didn't even notice! You must have gotten away, like oblivious idiot you were. Total shite ignorance, if I'll ever say. It got so bad, the adults had to intervene from their posts and physically tear everyone apart. I don't think anyone left the area without any scrapes and bruises. There was no clear indication of a winner, but ever since the adults intervened, everything was pulled to a standstill. Nobody could walk the streets without arousing suspicion from an adult. It was horrible.

I remember coming home that day. Mum was absolutely furious. Weren't you, mum?" Rhys asked.

"Beyond furious. I hate seeing my boys come home all rough-housed and bruised up. I was horrified! I would have taught that Henry boy a thing or two for messing with my boys!"

Rhys nodded. "William was furious too. Him and Henry took a lot of the blame for the fight, so he was in a right foul mood long after. His face was all bloody and everything. It was then he decided to teach you how to swim." Rhys concluded.

Arthur didn't say anything.

"Sure, perhaps throwing you into the lake multiple times wasn't exactly the brightest idea ever, but anyone could understand how livid he was, and he certainly got his point across. You learned, didn't you? You might have hated him for it, but you didn't understand the situation. I can't exactly blame him, after all the shite he'd been through either. In the end, it was best you remained unaware of it. You would have been a mess knowing someone had targeted you for weeks, shadowing you behind your back."

Arthur sat quietly, staring at the water basin in front of him. The water had gone cold. "I don't understand," he said finally. "Why did it take so long for me to find out?"

Rhys shrugged. "Not exactly something anyone was eager to talk about. I don't think it ended too well for Will, either."

Arthur was silent. After a few moments, he asked, "So, that one time you all left me in the field, was that part of it too?"

"What? I don't know, probably, I don't even—oh wait. No. No, that was deliberate. Sorry about that," Rhys shrugged. "Your sense of direction was terrible."

Arthur felt a vein poke somewhere. "Just when I was beginning to think you were all somewhat decent, it turns out you're all bloody prats! Honestly, I should have expected as much."

"It was summer; you made your way back home eventually. _Dry, _might I add."

"Do you hear this?" Arthur demanded, turning to their mother. "Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

Their mother shrugged. "Not much I can do about it now. They already served their punishments however long ago."

Arthur smacked his forehead, dragging his palm down his face. "I hate all of you," he said to Rhys. "And rightly so."

The brother merely shrugged, looking uninterested. "Job well done then, I suppose."

Arthur finished hanging up the last few articles of clothing. "You were all so aggressive…" he mumbled, dumping out the excess dirty water. "I'm a little concerned for Alfred."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, dear. William wouldn't do anything to harm Alfred, you have to trust that." His mother reassured.

"You have to let the boy meet new people sometime," Rhys added. "You can't be the only person he interacts with."

"It's not that," Arthur retorted frustratedly. "It's just…he doesn't take well to strangers. Older male figures to be exact. Especially ones that smoke."

"Why?" Rhys asked.

"Because…after I took him in, I attempted to give him a bath." Arthur licked his lips. "He was panicky, understandable enough, but when I only managed to pry off his shirt, he…well, his whole back was swathed in cuts, ugly yellow and blue bruises, and tiny burn marks scattered throughout his back. It was literally _everywhere, _no area seemed to be spared from the damage. It was sickening; I can't imagine anyone doing that to a child.

He was _so_ frightened," Arthur murmured, closing his eyes. He leaned back, wiping his hands on his trousers. "He slept in my arms that night, and he trembled so hard. He's sensitive when people touch him, or when he can't see them. I know smoking makes him nervous."

His mother covered her mouth in shock, and even Rhys looked stunned. The three looked at each other cautiously.

"Now you know," Arthur said quietly.

* * *

><p>William had only walked a few yards further when he realized no one was following.<p>

He turned around, searching for Alfred. The boy hadn't moved an inch from his outburst earlier. William sighed. "_Come on, _lad, we're burning daylight! We'll need to move fast, it gets dark out quickly and deathly cold."

"I want to go back," Alfred mumbled weakly.

"What?" William replied stupidly. "Come off it, we've already come this far. There's no use turning back now." He waved the boy over.

Alfred didn't say anything, but swallowed thickly, feeling cold fear accumulate in his stomach familiarly. His heart beated rapidly as dread began to set in; bile rose in the back of his throat, his hands began to shake violently, and the need to vomit rose steadily. He felt nauseous. He couldn't tear his eyes off the knife; first it was the cigarette and the sickeningly sweet smell of smoke, now it was the knife and its tauntingly familiar gleam, all that was missing was the fists, _the fists, _the ones that _always came crashing down—_

Liquor. It always began with liquor.

"_I don't like the way you're staring at me, boy. You damn yanks are always so rude, never any manners."_

(The first warning. )

_A stumble backwards. A hasty stuttering apology. Beads of sweat begin to form._

"_I hate those blue eyes of yours. So accusatory, so aggravating. Always piercing." _

_Liquid sloshes. A scratch sounds off the room. A cigarette is lit. The stench is sickeningly sweet._

(The second warning.)

_Panic begins to set in. Pulse quickens. Eyes immediately cast downward. Eyes dart anxiously around the room. The room closes in, suffocating. Edge towards door. _

"_Where do you think you're going? Planning to run away again?" A chair screeches across the floor. Footsteps pound heavily across the room, angry and demanding. "Don't think you can make a fool out of me, boy! You will belong to me soon enough, I'll see to it! You—"_

_Hands snatch out and grab shirt collar roughly. Shouting. Cursing._

_Someone is screaming. Crying. Both unidentifiable. They fade in the background._

_Apologizing. Pleading. Begging. Limbs flail wildly. More shouting. Angry. _

_Fists fly everywhere, reaching everywhere, each landing solidly in a new target. Each blow echoes in the brain, and suddenly all noise is dulled. Time slows down. _

_A new feeling. Something cold and sharp is dragged across the flesh, and decorates the canvas with angry streaks of dark red. The warm sticky substance drips and smears everywhere. Heart beats painfully loud in ears. _

_He is feeling exceptionally foul. A fuming cigarette makes contact with skin repeatedly. _

(Escape is eliminated. Punishment falls quickly and drags slowly. They have become more frequent lately, and no matter what he does, the man is never satisfied, _never satisfied—)_

"Hey, lad! Lad!"

Hands clamped down on Alfred's tiny shoulders, and he looked up wildly, eyes finally focusing on William's. He stopped shaking the boy when he finally got his attention. "Are you alright?" he asked, despite knowing the obvious answer.

Alfred shuddered, and squirmed in William's grasp. William's grip tightened around the boy's shoulders. "Listen, lad, listen. I'm not going to hurt you. I hadn't meant to frighten you when I pulled out that knife. I don't know what Arthur told you, but I would not nor _ever_ think about intentionally harming you in any way. I didn't mean it," he said firmly but gently. When Alfred continued to squirm, William placed his hands on the boy's face, holding it in place so they could look at each other properly without the younger turning away anxiously.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you," William repeated. "I promise."

Alfred gaze's locked with the older man, baby blue eyes wary but cautiously accepting of the man's promise. He nodded, breathing shakily.

"Excellent," William said as he tossed out his cigarette and stomped on it. "C'mere lad, climb up on my back. We've already lost enough time as it is."

Alfred clambered up on his back obediently, and they continued walking. They set off into a thick meadow, straying from the dirt road. Balfour followed behind faithfully in the steps of treaded grass, and Alfred twisted around to look down at the dog precariously. Alfred tightened his grip around William's neck.

"Oi, hold on to this for me," William said, holding the folded pocket knife over his shoulder in the boy's face. Alfred stared at it quizzically as he held on to it. As they started descending downhill, William shifted his grip and startled the boy, causing him to grip the man's shoulders tightly. He shrunk against William's back as the wind picked up.

"Sorry," William apologized gruffly. "Slippery."

As they continued down the hill, the grass steadily got higher, enough so that Alfred could reach out and run his hands along it. After a while of silence, he asked tentatively, "What are we doing?"

"You'll see," William replied.

Steadily, as they moved further, sparse patches of white, yellow, and purple began appearing in clumps. Upon coming closer, Alfred could see they were some sort of prickly plant, and other wild flowers.

"Hand me the blade," William asked, and opened it swiftly. He began to make quick slashes, sometimes more than once, and cut a few big white flowers. Alfred watched him curiously, but remained silent.

When they moved on to the purple plant, William had asked him to hold the flowers as he maneuvered across the field. They approached it slowly, and William began cutting very cautiously at the base of the plant. As he leaned over, Alfred reached a hand out to touch it, curiously.

"Ow!" The boy yelled, and retracted his hand immediately. He sucked on his forefinger warily, blood oozing out of the wound.

"Careful," William warned. "These are thistles, the national flower of Scotland. They're pretty to look at, but prickly to touch. Probably should've warned you sooner."

"Why are you picking them?" Alfred asked questioningly, pouting softly at his bleeding finger.

"I want to give them to someone special," William admitted after a moment. He coughed gruffly, wishing he could smoke another cigarette without fear of setting the whole damn place on fire. He wasn't exactly used to talking about such emotional subjects, and he wanted the comfort of cigarettes to put him at ease and make he feel less silly. He frowned at himself, cutting more thistles. He shuffled Alfred's weight away from the flower to give himself a better angle at the base.

"Why?" Alfred asked, clinging to the Scotsman's back. He gripped the flowers in one hand, careful not to crush them.

"It's…" William began, trying to think of the appropriate expression, grasping around blindly in spite of it. "It's something you do for a person you…love. It shows that you care about them." He concluded lamely. He mentally groaned at his answer. He wasn't good with feelings. He wished he didn't have to be the one to have to answer such questions _and _to be caught in such a potentially teasing situation. It'd be terrible if his brothers ever found out. William knew Arthur was better at answering this type of stuff because the boy was so damn _effeminate, _what with his knitting, embroidering, and cooking, and to top it all off, his damn romantic literature books. He'd probably laugh if he ever found out about it. Damn him.

"Why are you picking 'thistles'?" Alfred inquired, tasting the word on his tongue. "They hurt."

William paused in answering. Hell, he didn't like this topic. It was too personal, and he had worked too damn hard keeping this area of his life a secret. It was uncomfortable talking about it out loud. "The person likes purple," he mumbled, carefully turning his face away so the boy couldn't see it redden bashfully. He exhaled as he straightened up, and felt the boy slide down his back slightly. Shifting Alfred into a better position, he said, "Alright, that's enough questions for now. Let's just continue on for now." He whistled for Balfour, and the dog came running along closely as they continued on their way.

It wasn't much longer before they began approaching a small cottage along the coast. Alfred had just been falling asleep due to the scent of the Scotsman's neck and the soft rock of his step when Balfour had bounded off in front of them, barking excitedly. Alfred blinked blearily, shaking off any remnants of light daydreams, and rubbed at his eyes as he looked forward.

Balfour had waited anxiously at a fence, pacing enthusiastically as they approached. He barked, and William had laughed, shushing the dog softly. He lowered Alfred as they stepped inside the small fence and knocked on the door.

Shuffling about could be heard clearly from inside, and the door swung open revealing a pretty young woman with dark red hair and beautiful green eyes. She wiped her hands on her apron and her face lit up as she recognized her guests.

"Will!" She cried out happily, throwing her arms around the man's neck. William grunted, but smiled back lovingly.

"Hello, Mary," he replied, his eyes crinkling joyfully as he embraced the woman. Alfred blinked.

"I missed you," she cooed, nuzzling her face under his chin. "Come in, come in! It's been a while since you've visited; you must have been busy," she said, opening the door wider and gesturing him inside. Balfour wagged his tail animatedly and circled the woman before jumping on her dress excitedly, licking her face. She laughed, and petted his coat fondly. "I missed you too, Balfour," she said.

"Down, Balfour, down. It's no good winning her affections now," William teased. Mary laughed and straightened up. She reached for the door, noticing Alfred at last. He shuffled awkwardly, fiddling with his scarf and cap. She looked to William curiously.

"Come on, lad, she needs to close the door," William said as he beckoned the boy inside. "Go on and introduce yourself."

Alfred looked to William with a kicked expression, but introduced shyly to the woman, "My name's Alfred Jones."

Mary smiled warmly at him, and Alfred felt butterflies flutter in his stomach. "Hello, Alfred," she said, bending down and reaching to shake his hand. "It's very nice to meet you. I'm Mary Kelly."

Alfred blinked at her accent. Where William's accent was gruff and slurred and sometimes difficult to follow, Mary's accent didn't sound rough on the ears and was almost more musical in a way. It wasn't as pleasant as Arthur's, but it definitely had its own charm. He frowned, suddenly longing for the man's presence.

"H-hello," Alfred repeated, blushing at the woman's friendliness. She chuckled softly, and turned to William mouthing, _"Where is he from?" _silently_. _He shook his head a fraction and she nodded.

"Would you boys like something to eat?" She offered. She opened the cupboards and pulled out a few plates and glasses. "I can make you something quick, and I'm sure there's more than enough milk from Bessie today to be spared."

William walked to her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. He smiled in spite of himself, and presented her the bouquet of wild flowers wordlessly. He could feel the warmth of her face and neck heat up as she smiled, and she gave him a loving peck on the cheek as she grasped them gently and placed them in a vase on the windowsill.

"Are you hungry?" she asked Alfred again, twisting her head to face the little boy.

"A little," he admitted embarrassedly.

"That's okay, love. Why don't you go meet Bessie and Flora in the back while I make it? Bessie's the cow and Flora is the mare; they're both exceedingly friendly and I'm sure they'd love to see a new face. I bet Balfour wants to visit them as well. I'll call you when I've finished," she offered with a smile. Alfred nodded in return, and as he took out the door, Balfour darted after him excitedly.

"How've you been?" Mary asked William after Alfred had closed the door. They faced each other, pressing foreheads together affectionately.

"Bloody busy," William replied with a half grin. "Work at the docks have gotten busier this time o' year and my family is visitin'. Don't want to make 'em too suspicious if I'm always out. I've got to pick up Connor at the station today."

"It's okay, there's no rush," Mary replied comfortingly.

"I know, I just don't want to keep ye' waiting forever. It'd be bad if someone else picked ye' up before I had the chance too."

Mary laughed. "Sounds like all those years ago, yeah?"

William frowned. "Damn Henry. Right ol' bastard, he is. And the lot of them."

Mary smiled, humming in response. "I wouldn't say 'yes' to him even if he asked politely."

"He's wealthier. I'm sure your father would."

"That doesn't matter! My father likes you well enough, he'd be sure to give us his blessing."

William grunted. "I don't like how long this is takin'."

"You're trying your best," Mary consoled, and rubbed her hand against the side of his face comfortingly. He leaned into it. "It'll happen soon enough, and we can move into our own place somewhere, hopefully soon?"

"Mmm. I've got my eye on a place nearby. 'Course I could always build one if need be. Hard work won't stop me."

"It never has," she smiled. "And that's what I love about you," she said as she leaned in to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. He grinned and returned it playfully.

"So who's the handsome young lad you've brought with you today?" She asked as she moved to the counter to begin pulling food together. William sat at the table, chair facing out, looking thoughtful.

"That's Arthur's boy," William said, resting his chin in his hand. Mary nearly dropped what she was holding.

"Arthur's married?" She asked in shock.

William shook his head. "No, he just brought 'em up here for the family reunion. He found the boy on his doorstep or somethin'. He's not tellin' us somethin', because he acts strangely protective of the lad. I dunno what of, though."

"He's a cute boy," Mary commented.

William hummed. "He's a real nervous wreck too. Doesn't like anyone touchin' him, and panics real easily. He doesn't seem to like me."

"Maybe that's just how he is. He's not from here, is he?"

"I doubt it. Sounds American."

Mary nodded. "That's strange. What's an American boy doing all the way across the Atlantic?"

William shrugged. "Maybe he ran away? Or got lost? I heard they had a civil war there some time ago."

"That was nearly thirty years ago," Mary replied. "I'm worried though; isn't anyone looking for him?"

William didn't say anything.

"I bet his mother is worried sick. To be separated in a foreign country is awful. It's a stroke of luck he managed to find someone to take him in."

William drummed his fingers along the table, staring at them absentmindedly. "I dunno," he said finally. "And I don't like to think about it either. It's up to Arthur." He put a cigarette in his mouth, and fished around in his pockets for the matches.

Mary reached over and plucked the cigarette from William's mouth, shaking it in front of him disapprovingly. "You know how I feel about these," she said sternly. William sighed. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Cheer up. Food's ready. Go fetch Alfred while I set the table."

William sighed, but went to fetch the boy obediently. He walked around the house to the barn, ignoring the chickens that scrambled to get out of his way. Opening up the big red wooden door, he poked his head in and called, "Alfred?"

The boy was deep in the back of the barn at the last stable, petting the mare affectionately. Hearing footsteps, Alfred's eyes flickered to William's approaching figure.

"I see ye' like good ol' Flora," William commented.

Alfred nodded.

"Beautiful horse. Dependable, too."

"She's big," Alfred commented softly.

William cracked a smile, leaning against the stable. "Per'aps from yer point of view. She's not too big; in fact I think you could saddle her up easily."

Alfred looked at Flora uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"'Course. 'S easy. I could teach you if we had time."

Alfred turned his head sharply from his admiration of the mare. "You would teach me?" He asked bewilderedly.

"Why not?" William shrugged. "I could show you how to get her to trot and such. Only not today, since we don't have much time left in the day. We still have to pick up Connor after we eat somethin' on the road."

Alfred looked back to Flora, petting her neck fondly in wonder. His eyes lit up at the prospect, and a small but genuine smile graced his face. "Thank you," he said to William, looking up at the man.

William suppressed the warm feeling that blossomed in his chest. He coughed and looked away, his fingers twitching for a cigarette. "'S nothin', lad," he murmured. "Anywho," he began, changing topic. "We need to get goin', daylight's getting' shorter and Connor is probably waitin' at the station by now. We need to go."

"Don't you want to stay longer with Mary?" Alfred asked.

William pursed his lips. "I would, but we need to pick up my damn brother. And speakin' o' which, do me a favor an' don't mention it to the lot back home, 'kay? Jus' act like we've never been here." When Alfred nodded, he beckoned him to follow. "Let's get goin' then, time is of the essence."

* * *

><p>In a brief but fond farewell, they had left Mary's little cottage with waving goodbyes and packed sandwiches. William had all but stuffed it in his mouth intensely as Alfred crawled on his back, twisting to see Mary one last time. She had patted his head kindly before they left, restating on how lovely it was to meet him in her lilting accent. Alfred blushed lightly, and muttered a soft "nice to meet you" as well before they took off. Before long, they were back on the road, into the paved roads of the capital city.<p>

"A'right," William said to himself as he lowered Alfred down on a busy intersection. The city was absolutely crammed with all sorts of people; farmers walked around with their livestock, workers bustled around the corners, and boys and girls of all ages dashed around madly from one place to the next. It was a flurry of people, and Alfred couldn't help but press himself close to William in fear of getting trampled by the crowd. Balfour sat next to them, panting slightly.

"Stay close, lad," William warned as he craned his neck in various directions, looking for the train station, and more importantly, a specific person. Finally giving up, he said, "Damn it to hell. 'S nearly impossible to find anyone in this crowd. Let's walk that 'way."

They walked up and down the train station repeatedly, and every so often another batch of people would either arrive or depart; either way, it was a mass frenzy of people moving in all directions at once, and nearly everyone looked the essentially the same. William didn't say anything, but Alfred sensed his patience was running short. He followed behind the man wordlessly, keeping a cautious hand on Balfour.

"Damn it all," William growled. "Bloody Connor can find his way home, himself. Searched nearly the whole platform and can't—"

"Oi! Will! William!" A voice cut through the crowd. Over the loud hum of the atmosphere, it was difficult to hear.

William spun around, looking wildly in all directions. "Connor?" He called out loudly, despite feeling like a bloody idiot.

"Over here, you gobshite, can't you see me wavin'?"

"Bloody hell, Connor, hurry up and get your arse over here!"

A man with reddish brown hair suddenly appeared, and Alfred had to crane his head to look at him. The man was the same height as William, and while William appeared to be annoyed, Connor seemed to be in high spirits.

"'Ello, Willy, how's the form?" Connor asked as he set his bags down have briefly gave William a slap on the back, grinning broadly.

"I told you not to call me that," William replied, a vein beginning to protrude on his forehead as he shoved the other man away firmly.

"Yes, yes, well I'm absolutely knackered. Fancy things they are, trains. Bloody great, but terribly exhaustin'. Surprsin', since all you do is sit in them for hours at a time. Anyway, how are we getting home anyways?"

"Walkin'," William grunted in reply. "Get yer things, we're leavin'. It's bloody hell crowded here."

"Not even goin' to offer to take my bags, huh? Someone's a bit cheesed, if I'd say." Connor replied, undeterred. "Come off it, Will, I know you're glad to see me, don't lie about it."

A smile finally cracked through William's set features. "For someone who's so tired, you sure seem to have a lot o' energy."

"I'm jus' happy to finally be walkin'!" Connor exclaimed. "S' a damn long way to here from Ireland."

"How's it treatin' ya?" Will asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets, pulling his coat tighter. "See any o' them leprechauns?"

"Shut up, Will. 'S a beautiful country. You should come see it sometime, if you weren't so damn busy."

"I gotta work," Will replied, shrugging.

"You work so damn hard already, and for what?" Connor pressed on, handing one of his luggage bags to Will, who finally accepted it. Connor scowled.

Will shrugged. "It's just somethin' that has to be done." His eyes flickered away.

Connor grumbled exasperatedly in reply. Leaning in closer to Will's ear, he whispered, "I dunno if you've noticed or not, but there's a boy trailin' us a few feet back. Is he a beggar or somethin'? Or does he work for you? He's awfully familiar with Balfour."

William blew out a breath of air, pulling out another cigarette. "No, no, that's Arthur's boy."

"What?" Connor replied stupidly.

"He found him or somethin'," Will responded in a hushed tone. "Tell you later."

Connor furrowed his eyebrows. "A'right." Turning to Alfred, he formally introduced himself. "Ay, lad! Hurry up! M'name's Connor. Older brother of Arthur's. Second oldest in the family." He stuck a hand out to Alfred, grasping the boy's hand and shaking it quickly.

"So you're with Arthur, eh?" Connor continued. Will couldn't help but watch the scenario unfold stupidly. Connor was so direct.

Alfred licked his lips. "Yes."

"Mm. Sorry to hear, lad. Arthur's a right twat, he is. I hope he's treatin' you right."

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. "What's a 'twat'?" He asked confusedly.

William sucked in a breath sharply. He shoved Connor roughly, eliciting an aggravated "hey!" in reply, which was quickly silenced by a glare. "It's nothin' lad, don't worry about it. It looks like we're almost home, and I think I can see Arthur from here! Why don't you run up and meet him before us?" Will rushed, words spilling out of his mouth so fast Alfred had to concentrate to understand them. He glanced at the man bewilderedly, but ran ahead anyway. In the distance, the front door to William's house swung open and light spilled out, revealing an open-armed Arthur. Alfred had all but jumped in his arms excitedly, and in return Arthur picked the boy up in a tight embrace. Even from the distance, it was easy to see the excitement on each other's faces, with Arthur supporting the boy in his arms, and Alfred wrapping his hands around Arthur's neck, whispering something to make Arthur's face crack into a smile completely unaware of everything outside of the boy. It was only when William and Connor arrived did they both look over.

"Close the door, idiot. D'you want to let all the cold air in?" William grumbled, pulling off his scarf and feeling the length of the day wearing on him.

"What the bloody hell took you so long?" Arthur fumed. "It's nearly dark out! How long does it take to walk to the station and back?"

William sighed and opted to ignore him. Connor closed the door behind them both. "You've haven't changed one bit," he remarked, raising a brow.

Rhys laughed from the table. "That's what I said!"

Arthur pursed his lips in a fine line. Looking at the two of them, he said stiffly, "Well. It's, er, nice to see you, Connor. I hope your trip was well." He almost looked apologetic to William too. Almost.

Connor looked at him in disbelief, his eyebrows knitting together. He leaned towards William and whispered, "What the hell got into him?" William merely shrugged, clearly perplexed as well.

"You don't have to be a damn prick—" Arthur began, then abruptly stopped short. As if recalling something, he started again. "Just being cordial, is all." It appeared to be killing him, to be so polite. He licked his lips, shifting Alfred in his arms, who was watching the scene with mild amusement.

"Mum made dinner. Go take a seat, and get settled in later. She'll be delighted to see you," Arthur said, with difficulty. He moved out of the room, taking Alfred to change out of his clothes. It was silent for a few moments. All three remaining boys took a seat at the table, looking dubious.

"That's unsettling," William finally concluded, leaning back in his chair. "What's gotten into him?" He asked. Rhys merely shrugged, knowingly.

"_He said what?" _A voice bellowed from the other room.

"Oh bloody hell," Connor said, placing his head in his hands in defeat.

"You should've known better than to curse in front of children," William remarked, patting Balfour on the head.

"So much for the cordial peace," Rhys said, leaning on the table to rest his chin in his hand.

"I've barely been here for two minutes."

"Welcome home."

* * *

><p><strong>Good Lord I've never written so much for one chapter before. Seriously, this is the most I've ever written for one chapter! It's 20 pages! Sheesh. <strong>

**Anyways, I really hope you guys liked this chapter! But can you do me all a favor and **_**review? **_**No seriously, I know I beg all the time, but I seriously need some critiquing. How is my pacing? I'm having trouble with that, and I want to know what you guys think. Is it too slow for you guys? Or is it too fast? Or is it a combination of both in different areas? I don't want to bore you guys, but I don't want to bombard you either. D: I hope it's not too much to ask for! I need to even out the pacing and iron out the plot, so all reviews are very much appreciated~! 3**


	7. Chapter 7

**That horrible feeling you get when you realize NONE of your favorite USUK are being updated..T_T (That's usually my first indicator to update mine, lol).**

**Hey everyone! I'm sorry this took so long to update, I totally passed my one month limit. *_* I usually try to update at least in the time span of one month, but it's been really hard lately, because it's so hard to find time to write! I'm juggling such a cramped schedule: high school sports (finished one, started another!), out of school sports, club responsibilities, school productions, piano requirements, homework commitments, and social life obligations, and only small spaces to fit in time to read, draw, write, and tumble on tumblr. Of the last four, can you see which one is the easiest and most convenient? /shot**

**But anyways, thank you so much for being patient with me, everyone! :D I hope you enjoy this installment!**

**(Another fast-paced chapter for my lovely deprived readers...BTW, there are probably a few errors….I'll fix them sometime after I upload this. I feel bad for making you guys wait so long!)**

* * *

><p>Arthur was outraged.<p>

Even after traveling out of the country to nearly the _other side of Britain, _it appeared even he could not outrun his work and responsibilities.

Everything was peaceful for the first few days after the Kirkland family had officially gotten together, but it was only yesterday when an onslaught of letters, transactions, documents, and notes, were all but shoved into his hands like an avalanche of papers that each demanded his individual and undivided attention.

(His brothers had snickered at him as he was nearly _buried_ in stacks of papers scattered around the table. Rhys, however, slightly understanding, merely moved his stack of documents to make room for Arthur's. He shrugged empathetically. )

The worst part was that Arthur was spending less and less time with Alfred, partly due to his stubbornness to finish as much of the task as he could it one sitting, and the fact that his brothers decided it would be fun to take responsibility of the boy.

(He couldn't help but feel slightly jealous at this.)

"Oi, come on lad, I'll take you down to the docks an' teach you how to fish."

"Why don't we take him to the stables and teach him how to ride? There's got to be a horse small enough for him."

"There's plenty of time for that later. The weather's good now, and it won't last long."

"But Mr. Bailey's selling his new colts. If we don't hurry, someone might purchase them."

"I doubt I have enough money for a colt."

"You've been saving for nearly a year now! And for what? It's nearly beggin' to be sold!"

"Boys," Mrs. Kirkland said, approaching them from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "While you're out today with Alfred, be sure to pick up some fresh bread. Mrs. McBride is selling them to me personally for only half the price. Be sure to remind her."

"Right."

"Aye."

Arthur sighed dramatically, leaning against the table with his head in his hands. "Oh for God's sake, just get on with it! It doesn't even matter either way, so it would do you lot good just to shut up and leave already." He scowled.

William narrowed his eyes irritatedly, and Connor scoffed. "Oh, Arthur's just feeling grumpy because he has to stay inside and work. Not feelin' too good o'er that bookshop now, are we? It's more trouble than it's worth, 'innit? So that should keep you from braggin' about it no more, tryin' to make the rest of us look like fools for not takin' it. C'mon, Alfie."

Arthur narrowed his eyes moodily, resting his chin in his hand. "Bloody hell, I hate you so much."

"Arthur!" His mother exclaimed.

"Don' worry over it, mum. It's how he shows his affection," William replied, rolling his eyes. He swung open the door and began walking out.

Tugging Arthur's sleeve, Alfred looked up at the taller boy and asked, "Are you working again?"

Relenting, now that his attention was on Alfred, Arthur's demeanor softened. "I'm afraid so. I've nearly twice the amount of paperwork since that of yesterday," he said apologetically. He ruffled Alfred's hair familiarly. "I'm sorry, lad."

Alfred pouted, resting his chin on Arthur's knee. His eyebrows knitted together sullenly, and he accused, "You always work now!" The boy's bright blue eyes appeared troubled and displeased.

"I know lad, but I can't help it. It's very unfortunate. I hadn't expected so much trouble back home in my absence," Arthur replied regrettably, wincing at himself. It was hardly an explanation nor an apology, yet he had nothing to offer the younger boy. He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll try to get as much done while you're away today, okay? I promise we'll do something soon, don't fret yet, love."

Alfred hummed unhappily to himself in response, his sentiment apparent quite visibly. It wasn't that he didn't like Arthur's brothers; he actually found them quite interesting and entertaining. Despite the fact that they used strange words at times, or he couldn't make out what they were saying when they bickered, he merely missed the company of the one of which he was fonder, and despite the close proximity, the business of the older boy sometimes made it feel as if they were miles apart, separated from one another by an invisible barrier.

"You can tell me all about it when you get back, hm?" Arthur suggested. Alfred nodded, still upset, yet not unreasonable. "Alright then, off you go. The faster you go, the faster you'll be back." He watched the boy take off, frowning.

He sighed, leaning back into his chair, staring at the amount of work in front of him with regret.

Rhys sat to the right of him, and shuffled through his own papers. Without looking up, he said, "It won't do you any good to look at it. Unfortunately, glaring doesn't make it go away."

"Perhaps you haven't tried hard enough," Arthur replied half heartedly, glaring harder.

Rhys sighed, shaking his head, as he shuffled through papers.

Sometime later, after about going through a dozen or so documented transactions and orders, Arthur leaned forward in his seat and rubbed his temples tiredly. He knew Mrs. Botts' son was completely inexperienced in the matter, but the boy had already sold several collectible books for far less than their value. He was losing money; while it may have seemed like he was making a profit from selling twice the amount as usual (as he initially thought), in actuality he was making less. Damn. He almost was afraid to open the rest of his letters to see how much he was losing. If this kept up, he wouldn't be able to afford the apartment with Nancy.

Glancing at the mound uneasily, a letter with familiar handwriting peeked out near the bottom of the pile. He pulled it out curiously.

"Nancy!" he said with surprise.

"Hm?" Rhys asked, not looking up from his work.

"Nothing," Arthur replied, tearing open the letter eagerly. It read:

_Dear Mr. Arthur Kirkland,_

_First and foremost, I wish to apologise sincerely for the poor quality of ink and parchment of which I am currently writing this on. I'm afraid I've been unable to acquire such luxuries despite finding myself seated in the first class departments. Nonetheless, I am still grateful for my nephew to supply the train ticket so graciously._

_Currently my train has reached the border of Germany; I wish you could have the fortune to see it! The countryside is absolutely beautiful; it's been a long time since I've seen the sky so beautifully blue. We've stopped only once, but the people are quite charming, once you look past their grating accents. Though I suppose it helps that I am able to speak some sufficient German. Anyhow, I am looking forward to seeing my nephews again, and I hope the situation isn't too dire. I should be there in a day or so._

_How is the situation with Alfred? Is he behaving well? Or have you sent him away? Have you possibly located his family? I apologise again for leaving you so quickly when the situation came to be; unfortunately I was unable to make any changes in the plan. I do hope you've forgiven me since then. The boy seems like a well enough lad, I'm almost certain he means you no ill will. Either way, I am sure you are doing well enough on your own. I will write again upon reaching my destination._

_Faithfully,_

_Nancy Richardson_

Feeling much happier after reading the letter from a familiar friend, Arthur reached across the table for clean parchment and began hastily writing. It felt good to hear from Nancy; he had almost forgotten how much he missed her company. Quickly but carefully, he had successfully filled out nearly three papers detailing everything that had accounted for since her departure. Everything from the night she left to the current moment was documented. He warned her to spare the landlady extra pay alongside the rent as gratitude for holding the rooms with no actual person residing in it. He finished the letter as quickly as he started it, and sealed it closed, setting it aside for mailing.

"Why are you so cheerful?" Rhys asked suspiciously, looking up from his own set of documents.

"Just heard from a familiar friend, is all."

"Since when do you have friends?"

"Piss off," Arthur retorted, but it lacked its usual bite. Spotting another letter, he reached towards it eagerly, hoping it was another from Nancy.

Upon inspection, it was from Mrs. Botts' son, the one working the bookshop. It was short, clean, and precise.

_Mr. Kirkland,_

_I regret to write to you while you spend your time in Scotland with family, but I've felt the need to inform you of a man curious for your whereabouts. I told him you were away visiting family, and did not know when you'd be back. When he asked for your address, I informed him I could not disclose such information. _

_Is he an old friend of yours? Shall I direct him to your address?_

_I await your reply._

Arthur set down the letter slowly. Bloody hell, that could be anybody. A list of names and faces conjured in Arthur's head, and the possibility and reasons of any one person was endless. Was it an old customer whom he'd interacted with a while ago? Maybe someone directed them there, or was recommended or referred to? Or perhaps just a mishap from someone out of the city, who lost their way or mistook his shop for another? Whatever it was, Arthur wrote a hasty note back, directing the boy to hold off until his arrival. He'd be back soon, and maybe even make a profit after so long.

* * *

><p>A day later, Alfred found himself resting his head against the glass windowpane, staring dully outside as the day wore on. Mrs. Kirkland was out of the house, probably gossiping with the local women, William and Connor were outside smoking pipes and chatting, and Rhys and Arthur were inside discussing paperwork quietly. It was the beginning of another dreary day.<p>

Even playing with Balfour had gotten boring. So far the only occurrence that stirred any reaction was when Connor showed Arthur a trick he taught Alfred:

("Hey, hey Arthur, look what I taught Alfred! C'mere, Alfred, come light my pipe." A scratch echoed in the room.

"You _idiot!")_

Arthur was angry, but it surprisingly didn't bother Alfred at all. The Irishman had taught the boy how to light a match the previous day, and instead of shying away from the small light, he gravitated towards it and looked at it in wonder and awe. He marveled at the warmth that emitted from something so small, and found himself eager to try lighting a match himself. He panicked only slightly the first few times, being afraid to be burnt, but once he got the hang of it he was eager to light both William's and Connor's pipe whenever they asked.

"Arthur," Alfred called, across the room. "Can I go outside?"

"Of course, just stay within the property."

"But I've already seen all the property. Can I go further?"

"I'd really prefer you didn't quite yet; wait until I can accompany you."

"But I'm so bored," he complained.

"Go read the next story in your book. Or try writing the alphabet like I taught you."

Alfred sighed, and banged his head against the windowpane lifelessly, and Connor turned around in his chair from outside and waved him over.

Exiting the house almost eagerly, Alfred stood beside Connor's chair expectantly.

"What're y'doing inside all day? You should go out an' do something."

"I want to explore," Alfred began hesitantly.

"Then go," William commented.

"But I don't think Arthur wants me to go past the property."

"What? That's crazy, go ahead and explore, but take Balfour with you."

Alfred hesitated uncertainly. "Won't Arthur be angry?"

"Arthur's always angry. Go ahead and look around a bit, and be back by dinner. That's what we used to do when we were younger," Will said.

When Alfred still didn't move, Connor stood up from his chair, forcing the boy to back away two steps. Connor sighed. "It's really too bad you're such a good kid. C'mon, I'll go talk to Arthur for you. It's a bloody waste of a day for you just to sit around and be doin' nothin'." Alfred followed the taller man inside.

"Arthur," Connor began as he leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen. "Alfie here is goin' to go explore the neighboring vicinity. Just thought we'd let you know in case you wondered."

Arthur looked up, peering from behind his glasses. Taking them off, he asked, "Why? I already told him to wait for me to finish."

"When are you gonna finish?"

"Well, I've already sorted through this stack of documents, perhaps—"

"That's too long, the day is already nearly halfway over."

"He can wait, then. It's no use going out now, using that logic."

"And then what will he do? Let the boy have a little freedom. You explored all the time when we were younger."

Arthur flushed. "Yes, well, but that was different—"

"How so? Stop being so pigheaded and let the boy out of this cage for a while. He doesn't need your constant supervision all the time."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, then closed it surreptitiously. Narrowing his eyes at Connor's word choice, he was silent. Finally, after a few moments, he stood up and walked to gather Alfred's scarf. "Fine," he said, wrapping the scarf around Alfred's now beaming face. "Stay warm, and don't stray too far off in the neighbor's territory. I want you back before dinner, do you understand me?" Alfred nodded, and embraced Arthur in a grateful hug.

"Thank you!" He said happily. Connor smiled, and followed the boy out of the house.

"Did you get your way?" William asked once they were outside. He puffed out a mouth of smoke.

"Of course," Connor replied, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "Uncle Connor knows how to get things done." He took a seat, pulling out a cigarette. Already, Alfred pulled out a match and lit it. Connor thanked him softly. Alfred smiled.

William whistled, and Balfour came sprinting from behind the house. "Go with Alfred," he told the dog, pointing to the boy. "And stay with him."

"Thank you," Alfred repeated again, to both Connor and William. Connor saluted, and William said, "Be sure to check out the river nearby if you can. It's cold now, but there still might be fish swimmin' around." When Alfred nodded, he said, "Alright, off you go."

Taking off on the road, Alfred waved one last time as he walked far enough to be nearly out of their sight. Balfour trotted beside him loyally.

Walking out on the gravel road alone, Alfred smiled broadly to himself as he could finally express his excitement properly. Unknowingly to anyone, he had been concocting a plan the past few days. After spending that first day with William, Alfred decided he wanted to give something to Arthur to show how much he loved the older boy. As Alfred had thought about it, he couldn't figure out what to give; he had no money, could afford nothing, and could create nothing; he could barely write his name properly. It seemed that the only way to go was to follow in William's footsteps; by picking flowers. If that meant trudging across steep hills and grassy fields on an unusually cold but standard cloudy day by himself, so be it, the young boy decided. And since it worked so well with Mary, Alfred was absolutely confident that William was right, and was nearly certain Arthur would love it as well.

Turning at the crossroad, Alfred strayed off the path as William had done the previous days. Balfour trotted behind him, practically stepping on the boy's heel, so close in proximity. The wind was hard and bitter, and Alfred wrapped his scarf close to his neck, burying his face in it as much as possible. As long as he kept moving, it wasn't too unbearable. He walked further along.

It took longer than expected to arrive towards the field (admittedly Alfred had stopped several times, wondering whether he was lost or not and out of pure exhaustion), so when the purple thistles finally appeared in sight, the boy sighed in relief. The stalks of thistles were nearly taller than him, and he examined a smaller bush carefully.

Careful to avoid the thorns, he began twisting and pulling the flower from the roots. The stems were thick and the thorns were sharp; Alfred realized why William had brought along the knife. Although he didn't know how to use it, it'd be a much better help than his useless tugging. He pulled harder.

The wind blew, and the small boy was beginning to feel the faintest bit frustrated. His scarf had caught several times in the bushes, and when he attempted to pull it out, several strands and snagged and gaping holes were left in their place. Growing exasperated and cold, he desperately tried to dig at the roots. Dirt scraped under his fingernails, the damp earth was cold and unforgiving; his fingers were raw from the strain. He sat back and collapsed, taking a moment to peer at his red hands. Looking back at the tall flower, he gave one last attempt to pulling the plant out.

Prickly sharp thorns sliced his skin as his grip slid before him. "Ow!" He cried out, as the wounds were greeted with cold air. The cuts stung, and Alfred bit back tears of pain and frustration. Sniffling, he was careful to wipe his hands on his trousers. He couldn't help but feel a little nauseous at the sight of his own blood.

"C'mon Balfour," Alfred mumbled, beckoning to the dog. He'd have to search elsewhere for another flower. Alfred could help but feel disappointed that his original plan wasn't working out as well as he hoped; he had already spent a number of hours walking to the field, and now he'd have to walk further still. They continued trekking through the thick fields of flora.

Storm clouds thundered overhead, and the wind picked up bitterly. The fields rustled in accordance, as a symphony of collected plant life bowed down to the force of the weather. Alfred shivered violently as the wind found ways to weave through his cotton layers; he considered turning back, until Balfour sprinted off ahead of him, barking wildly.

"Wait!" Alfred called out, distressedly. He ran after Balfour haphazardly, nearly tripping twice. The dog dashed off in different directions; he had found a white rabbit and chased after it, growling madly. By the time Alfred caught up to the dog, he was nearly wheezing.

"Balfour!" He called. "Balfour, come—" Alfred trailed off, noticing a small plant of yellow flowers growing nearby. Growing excited, he ran towards them, picking them out easily. His hands still stung, but not even half of his effort was used nor needed as it was with the thistles. He called Balfour's name again, as a bright light flashed across the sky, followed by a crack of thunder. The boy's pulse quickened as thunder crashed across the skies. Balfour raced back to him, and rain began to fall from the skies. Finally achieving his objective, the boy began to walk back, only to stop. Alfred spun around wildly, looking in all directions, searching for something vaguely familiar from his location. He stomache filled with dread as he came to a startling realization.

It was no use; he was completely and utterly lost.

* * *

><p>Nobody said anything, but it was on everybody's mind.<p>

It was getting dark, and there was a storm out. They were far less than ideal conditions of which a young boy of seven were to be walking about, alone.

"That's it," Arthur stated, throwing aside his pen and paper. He stood up, causing the chair to screech against the backdrop of a quiet house. He was done listening to the light patter of the rain against the roof. The longer time went on, the heavier the rain fell. He was tired of waiting. "This is ridiculous. I'm going out to look for him."

"Calm down, Arthur, he's probably alright. You have to remember you've been out in a storm before, an' it's not so bad. He'll be back soon."

"He hasn't grown up here, like we have, William," Arthur snapped. He walked briskly towards the door, yanking on his coat. "He went out exploring, _by himself, _might I add, in a land that is completely unknown and foreign to him, _in the winter time_. Exactly, who's bright idea was this?" He scowled.

"He can't be far off," Connor cut in reasonably. "S'long as he followed the path, he should find his way right back here. 'Sides, he has Balfour to lead him back."

"He went _exploring! _It's entirely plausible and most likely he deviated away from the path! Don't be daft, Connor, do try to use your brain in that thick skull of yours!"

Connor narrowed his eyes dangerously. "I wouldn't be so bold, if I were you. We're only tryin' t'help."

"That's bloody bollocks! You're the ones who bleeding encouraged him to leave and go out on his own! It's been hours, and no one's seen nor heard of him since, tosser!"

"Oh, dry up!" Connor retorted angrily. "Perhaps the boy left deliberately, because he couldn't stand your incessant nagging voice and shite rules!" Arthur looked furious.

"That's bloody fucking bullshite, and _you damn well know it!"_

"Well perhaps if you stopped behavin' like a _goddamn _king around here, you'd earn a little more respect!"

"Don't act as if you know what's going on!"

"I already know enough to see—"

"Shut yer trap!" William roared. "Connor, stop bloody provokin' him all the time. An' Arthur, shut up and stop acting like a child! I'll go borrow a horse from Mr. Bailey's an' go look for 'im now."

"I'll come with you," Arthur said quickly. William shook his head.

"No, stay here in case he comes back by himself while we're gone. Connor will come with me."

"And exactly why is that?" Arthur exclaimed hotly.

"Because you're actually sort of right, for once," William sighed reluctantly. "We encouraged him to leave, so we'll find him. Just stay here and be grateful you're not going out in this weather."

Arthur paused, hating the feeling of the younger brother with no control over the situation. He shook his head. "It's no use, I can't stand just standing around and waiting. I'm coming."

"No, Arthur!" William scowled. "Just shut up and listen to me for once, will you? You're stayin' here, and if you really can't handle waitin' around, help Rhys and mum clear all the leaks upstairs and such. We'll be back as soon as possible."

Arthur frowned angrily. "This makes no bloody sense!" he shouted, enunciating each word clearer and louder than the last. William shook his head, sighing heavily and he gathered his things, and even Connor had the decency to look even a little guilty. They exited the house, slamming the door behind them, leaving only a little bit of rain.

Arthur kicked over a chair angrily, and sat down with his head in his hands. He couldn't help but feel cheated from the whole situation, and he hated being told what to do like a child.

* * *

><p>"I forget how sudden the weather is around here," Connor admitted aloud.<p>

"It's goin' to be miserable," William commented. They were already nearly soaked themselves from running to the stables. Connor said nothing in reply, and they mounted their horses. It was fortunate their neighbors were so kind and empathetic towards their situation; if Mr. Bailey had said no, it would have been that much more difficult to find the boy. The rain poured in torrents.

"Where should we start?" Connor shouted over the rain. Both of their hoods were pulled up, so it was difficult to see their faces. "Should we split up?"

"No," William shouted back. "There's too much risk in splitting up in this weather."

"Where should we start?"

"We'll have to check the borders of the property first. We'll have to hope he didn't stray further."

* * *

><p>Alfred was afraid.<p>

He wished he listened to Arthur, and never left the house to begin with. He would give anything to be back home and out of the weather; he was soaked to the bone, and he shivered violently. It was so cold, he could see his breath with every exhale.

"I want to go home," he said aloud, clutching his clothes tighter to himself. It was uncomfortable and he was unable to get warm, as the fabric was immersed with cold rainwater. He clutched his arms tightly to his chest, but water seeped out of the cotton, freezing him further. He scarf dragged on the ground, and his legs were a mess, covered in mud.

"Take us home, Balfour!" He called to the dog. As if responding, the dog trotted forward downhill with Alfred following closely behind. He could only hope the dog was leading him back, but he didn't have any other option at the moment anyway. He picked up the pace.

The hill was slicked with mud, and Alfred lost his footing on the loose gravel. He slammed into the ground, head crashing into the incline, and he cried out in pain. He right ankle throbbed painfully, he realized with a sinking feeling he probably twisted it. He attempted to walk on it, only to collapse again. This time however, he layed on the ground tiredly, panting softly. His eyelids fluttered closed; it was cold, he was tired, and he wanted to sleep. He couldn't care much about the rain and mud anymore, and his hands were so cold he could barely feel them. He only managed to pick a few of the yellow flowers, but by now they had wilted from the force of the rain and the clutch of his hand. The last he heard before he fell asleep was the sound of a dog barking in the distance.

* * *

><p>Mary stood at sink, drying a few plates as she stared at the window worriedly. It was raining hard, she thought to herself. She was glad she locked away the animals in the stable before it had started pouring.<p>

Vaguely, she heard something soft in the distance. She stopped drying the plate in her hand as she listened intently. It stopped. Softly, she asked her father, "Do you hear that?"

Her father looked up from the paper, by the fire. "Hear what?" He responded.

She shushed him softly, pressing a finger to her lip. She looked out the window again, pausing. "There. That noise."

A pause. "I don't hear anything."

Mary rolled her eyes. Reaching across the counter, she pushed back the curtains and opened the window, wincing as rainwater greeted her face immediately. Now, however, the soft sound floated in the house, louder for them to hear. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she tried to make sense of the noise over the clap of the rain. It sounded familiar.

She gasped as it clicked. "Balfour!" She exclaimed. Leaning out the window she called the dog's name loudly. When there was no response, she placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled piercingly. Her father grunted in the background. It was silent for a moment, and then the barking continued, sounding almost eager.

"That's him," Mary said as she wiped her hands and closed the window with a firm click. "There's someone out there, I have to check!"

Her father made an indignant sound. "How do you know it's not just a stray? It could be anyone's dog!"

"That's William's dog! I recognize it, and that dog never leaves his side. He's probably out in the rain right now!"

"Who's this William person? And you are not going out there in this weather!"

"You know who he is, father, he works on the docks! And I have to check, he could be hurt out there in the rain."

"I don't want you going out there! It's bad news going out in this weather. I'll go instead, if you're so persistent."

"No, father, you're still hurt from working. I promise I'll be back immediately; I'm almost certain that's William out there."

Her father pursed his lips angrily, but relented. "Fine. But if you're not back in an hour, I'm going out there! Take Fauna, she's a stronger, sturdier horse. And stay safe."

"I will," Mary promised, kissing her father's cheek as she threw on her overcoat, pulling the hood up. "I'll be back!" She shouted as she opened the door, and stepped out into the monstrous weather.

The rain came down so hard, the Scottish woman was already soaked after just saddling up her horse. She had to coo the horse out of the barn, but quickly mounted it and took off. She whistled continuously, looking for the source.

It took a while, but luckily Balfour wasn't far off. They were only half a mile away from her property. Cautiously, she guided the horse off the path and followed the barking. She braced herself for the worst. Lightning flashed, and Fauna neighed anxiously. Mary patted her neck and offered soft comforting words.

Despite the lowly lit skies, she found Balfour immediately. The dog had leaped at her wildly, circling the horse. However, instead of finding Will as she had expected, she found a much smaller body lying motionless beside the dog. Dismounting Fauna, she walked closer to examine the scene.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the face. "Alfred!" She gasped. His face was deathly pale and cold to the touch. Throwing off her hood, she placed her head against his small chest and detected a faint heartbeat. Immediately, she pulled the boy into a sitting position and scooped him up. It was difficult under any circumstance, especially so in the rain, but she managed to lift the boy onto the horse, and pulled herself up behind him. Alfred blinked blearily as rainwater from his cap dripped into his eyes, and he nearly swayed off the horse. Mary caught him reflexively, and he leaned back into her chest. "Easy there, darling. Try to stay awake, as hard as it may be."

They galloped back in the rain, making only one stop for Mary to check in with her father. After that (with a brief explanation and quick promise to be back the next day), Mary followed the trail to William's house, of which she knew so well. Her red hair curled and whipped in the rain like a dark angry flame in the night. Balfour followed closely behind, fur matted together from such long exposure to the weather.

It wasn't long before they encountered two other dark horsemen on the road. Their overcoats blew behind them in the wind like raven wings, and their faces were obscured in the dark. Mary's heart pounded fearfully in her chest.

Lightning flashed in the background, startling all horses onto their hind legs. Mary clutched the reigns frantically, desperate not to fall off. She wrapped an arm around Alfred protectively, until Fauna had settled down nervously. Next to her, Balfour began barking madly.

"Whoa, easy boy, s'me!" A voice called out familiarly.

"Will?" Mary called out, in disbelief.

"Mary?" Came the equally confused reply. "What are you doing out here in the rain?"

Mary squinted through the rain, trying to make out William's face. "I found Alfred on our property," she shouted over the rain. She nudged Fauna closer to the two men. Pulling back her overcoat, she revealed the boy, now wide-awake, to William and the other figure. He clutched the saddle anxiously, still visibly shaking.

"Thank the Lord we've found him," Connor breathed in a sigh of relief. "I've nearly drowned under this damned rain."

"Aye," William agreed. "We should head back now, or Arthur will come after us." Trotting next to Mary's horse, he held his hands out. "Here, give me Alfred, it'll be easier on you."

Mary nodded, and moved her horse as close into proximity as possible, and lifted Alfred in her hands and held him out. "Take him quickly Will, he's slipping—!"

William leaned over, securing the boy in front of himself, tucking him under his coat protectively. Whistling for Balfour, he shouted, "Alright, we're goin' back to the house now. Everyone be careful!"

* * *

><p>Arthur paced anxiously by the window. With every thunderclap and lightning flash, he felt more and more of his nerves unraveling. Not only was Alfred gone, but the expedition had taken William and Connor as well, with no clue as to when they'd be back. Arthur desperately wished he had gone with them; it had been hours since the two older boys left, leaving the rest of the family behind waiting apprehensively. Mrs. Kirkland had taken to preparing warm stew upon their arrival to control her anxiety, and even Rhys couldn't sit still. They had covered every leak in the house, and now they had nothing to do but wait in silent agony.<p>

A noise sounded outside. Rhys cupped his eyes to peer out the window. "They're here!" He exclaimed. "And there's a third figure with them."

Mrs. Kirkland wiped her hands on her apron, and murmured a soft "Thank God" to herself, wiping her forehead. "Quick, get the towels!" She said. Loud knocking pounded on the door impatiently.

Arthur bolted, swinging open the door. "Have you found him?" He demanded. Balfour squeezed inside between everyone's legs and shook himself off, causing Rhys to grimace as water splashed everywhere.

"Yes, now make way!" William shouted as he pushed Arthur aside abruptly. Arthur squawked indignantly, but said nothing. Mary followed closely after. Arthur blinked twice, taken slightly aback.

"Um, William, you do realize there's a woman behind you, right?" Rhys pointed out.

"Hello, Rhydian," Mary replied cheerfully, giving the younger man a small wave. She hung up her overcoat. Rhys looked bewildered, eyes darting back and forth between her and William.

"Yes, I am more than aware," William replied dryly, rolling his eyes. Turning to Arthur, he said, "Arthur, I believe this is for you." He effectively delivered Alfred into Arthur's arms, who only winced slightly as he made connection with a sopping wet little boy. Alfred's teeth chattered, and Arthur set to work to drying the boy as quickly as possible with a towel his mother presented.

"Christ, it is bloody cold!" William yelled as he and Mary reached for towels themselves. They moved towards the fire, where William promptly dumped the rest of the wood inside to burn. At the same time, Connor burst in the door and slammed it behind him noisily. "Bloody hell, if it rained any harder I'd say God's tryin' to flood us off the bleedin' island!"

William rolled his eyes. "Bring him over here, Arthur. The boy's freezin'." He patted a spot next to him by the fireplace, on the other side of Mary.

Arthur nodded, listening for once, and helped Alfred peel off his wet garments. Exiting only briefly to fetch clean clothing, Arthur set back to work, and soon Alfred was stripped to his trousers, which dripped by the fire. The boy curled in on himself freezingly and self consciously, his eyes pleading Arthur for the towel. The Englishman wrapped it around the boy comfortingly, and tried to shake out most of the water in Alfred's hair.

As he ushered Alfred into clean dry clothing, he asked William, "Where did you find him?"

William placed an arm around Mary's shoulder, and squeezed it. "Actually, it was Mary here who found him. How did you find him, Mary?"

"I thought I heard Balfour barking in the distance nearby our house. I thought it was you who somehow got lost or hurt outside in the rain, so I went to take a look and found a little boy instead."

"Thank you," Arthur replied gratefully. "I apologize for the informal introduction—" he shot William a look. "—But I believe we haven't met. I'm Arthur Kirkland, their younger brother. Pleased to meet you." He stuck a hand out.

Mary shook it firmly, smiling broadly. "I've heard all about you, Arthur. You're just as polite as your brother described. My name is Mary Kelly, and I live on the property neighboring the one next to this one."

Arthur looked bewildered at the information, and was about to ask how she heard about him, when another thought dawned on him. "Wait, two properties away? Alfred, exactly how far did you stray?"

"Arthur…" William warned.

"I—I don't really know," Alfred mumbled to himself, looking away. His eyelids drooped, but he couldn't help but cringe from Arthur's tone of voice. "I got lost."

Arthur felt his anger flare. Whipping back around to face Connor, he accused, "This is all your fault! This is exactly why I didn't want him roaming around Scotland by himself, but you just_ had_ to intervene!"

Connor bristled. "So now I'm the bad guy for grantin' the kid a little freedom? You do nothin' but Molly coddle the boy day in an' day out. And when you're not payin' attention to him, you're neglectin' him! Don't try to pin the blame on me, Arthur, when's it's also your fault!"

"I do not 'Molly coddle' Alfred!" Arthur shouted back. "He doesn't bloody live here, _Connor, _is it really mistaken of me for wanting to prevent him from getting lost out on his own? The circumstances are _different_, Connor, don't you _understand?"_

"You're smotherin' the kid, Arthur, open your eyes! How do you expect him to be independent if you're constantly holdin' his hand?"

"He's just a child!"

"Plenty of children his age roam free across town—"

"_He's a foreigner, _Connor, when will you bloody realize that? Couldn't you tell from his accent? Or are you too dense to even realize—"

"Stop actin' so goddamn arrogant, Arthur, you—"

"_Shut up!" _William bellowed. "Just stop, already! Can't you see this is gettin' nowhere? Just go to bed, all of you!"

Connor scowled and stormed off, followed by Rhys. Mrs. Kirkland, who missed a majority of the fighting, served soup with tight lips to Mary and William. She apologized softly to Mary for the scene. The younger lady merely thanked her for the soup. William sat next to her.

Arthur, meanwhile, turned back to face Alfred, who had the towel wrapped around himself like a blanket, shrank under Arthur's gaze timidly. Arthur kneeled down leveled himself to see eye to eye with the younger boy.

"I'm not happy," Arthur said firmly. "Alfred, you have to understand there are reasons why I don't want you doing certain things; they're usually unsafe and dangerous. This is why I didn't want you going out today; the weather is unpredictable, you've never been here before, and merely having a dog with you won't prevent you from getting lost, or worse, mugged."

Alfred swallowed thickly.

"Where did you go exactly? And why didn't you turn around once it started to rain? It was damn foolish of you to continue on blindly, especially on such a cold day in the middle of winter. You have to know these things, Alfred, they're imperative."

Alfred was silent.

"From now on, I don't want you do go anywhere without me or some other adult, do you understand me? How do you think it makes me feel to have what I say be so blatantly ignored, _even _under the permission of Connor, and go about your own way? There are rules for _reasons, _Alfred. I don't like the thought of you going out there alone, when there are so many bad people in the world. How would you like it if I just wandered out and left without a trace? No explanation whatsoever, nor—"

Alfred's face crumpled and he abruptly burst into tears, sobbing into his hands. Tears rolled down his eyes freely, and he curled his knees to his chest, and tried haphazardly to wipe the tears away.

"I'm s-sorry, Arthur. D-don't be angry!" He blubbered. Alfred reached out desperately for Arthur's shirt and buried his wet, tear-stained face into it. He cried brokenly and openly, and wrapped his arms around Arthur's chest frantically, clutching onto the man like a lifeline.

"P-please don't l-leave me-!" Alfred begged, his crying verging on the edge of hysteria. "I-I promise I'll be good-! I won't be b-bad-! I'll listen-!" The little boy gasped for air in between sobs of terror. He moaned fearfully.

Arthur, shocked into submission, finally snapped himself out of it and wrapped strong arms around the boy, pulling him into a bear-crushing embrace as if the world were going to end. "My boy, my sweet, sweet boy!" He cradled the boy's head into his neck and wrapped his arms tightly around Alfred's small frame. Alfred pressed himself tighter, clutching on to Arthur.

"I will never leave you, I promise," Arthur said thickly, as he pressed a loving kiss to Alfred's temple. "Nothing in the world will ever separate me from you, and you have to believe it." He wiped away Alfred's tears. "Nothing you could do would ever make me love you less."

Alfred hiccupped uncertainly, and buried his tear stained face in the crook of Arthur's neck, hugging the older boy tightly around the neck. Arthur shushed his shuddering cries softly, kindly, and a tad guiltily, rubbing circles in Alfred's back comfortingly as he rocked back and forth on his feet. After the boy's breathing had shakily evened out, his grip loosened around Arthur's neck and he fell into a limp, exhausted state of sleep. Shifting Alfred's small frame in his arms, he carried the boy back to their room, completely immersed in a world of their own; nothing else mattered; the mystery woman with William, the fight with Connor, the bills, work, and even the rain, which had settled into a steady drizzle on the roof. The house had gone quiet; it's inhabitants safely sleeping, each tucked away into their separate corners of the house. The wind had taken to a dull blowing, and for once, despite the aftermath of a highly stressed emotional overbearing night, Arthur couldn't help the tiny glimmer of hope in his chest that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay. Perhaps this was what it felt to be at peace, in the dead of night, experiencing the warm fuzzy feelings after clearing some emotional overbearings.

Arthur felt lighter, somehow, as though perhaps he had done something right after a series of disappointments in his life.

It was good to feel needed.

To be loved.

* * *

><p><strong>Another long chapter for my dear readers! I always have the difficultest time beginning and ending a chapter. <strong>

**Are you guys seeing the tension between Connor and Arthur? /nudge nudge, wink wink. It's a reference to the political tensions between Britain and Ireland regarding indpendence! ;D /shot**

**Once again, can I thank each and every one of you for the reviews? /cries. I have to give a few shout outs however, to 'All1sees' from tumblr, Lunar Iris from ffnet, and to my friend Sabrina, for totally kicking my ass into writing and giving me a few tips! It really is appreciated guys, it seems the fastest way to motivate me these days is getting an ask in my askbox or an angry text message from a devoted fellow writer friend. XD And I'm really so flattered you guys are recommending this fic to your friends! ;o; I have to admit, I'm a little nervous that it won't meet expectations, but totally grateful, nonetheless! :D**

**Okay, so as you guys all know by now, I'm not the most efficient when it comes to updating, or writing, in general. I put so much strenuous time into planning, researching, and outlining each chapter to tweaking and constructing the plot, I literally have to sleep on an idea for a few nights before I approve it (my writing isn't the best, so I have to put a lot of time into it, hahaha). And I'm going to be straight up honest with you guys, I seriously did not expect this fic to go on for as long as it has (or to be nearly this popular!). So just a lovingly apologetic heads up: from here on out, installations **_**will**_** take time because I haven't put much detailed thought this far into the story (must begin seriously outlining!). Worry not, I have an idea in mind, but I've reached the end of my notes for now. Frankly, I cherish each and every individual review I get, so thank you all so much for the praise and encouragement! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Wow guys, I really exceeded my one month limit thing I sort of had going. Sorry, I had absolutely no idea how to approach this chapter! Sort of writer's block, in a way.**

**I want to remind you all we are all wandering off into uncharted territory. No worries! I am leading the way, even without a map.**

**These chapters just keep getting longer and longer it seems.**

* * *

><p>Despite the kitchen table being littered with papers, preventing anyone other than Arthur and Rhys from seating, (and thus consequenting Connor to stand eating his breakfast huddled against the counter in the corner of the room) it didn't stop William disrupting the early morning peace by entering and swiftly shoving several stacks of papers out of the way to make room for himself and Mary, who followed closely behind, laughing lightly at the scene.<p>

Arthur squawked indignantly, and Rhys sighed irritatedly. "Don't you bloody well have any consideration towards others?" Arthur asked sharply. His head was hurting from thinking so hard, and his joints cracked from staying put in one position for so long. He dropped his quill and cradled his head in his hands. He desperately wished for a break. It didn't even feel like a vacation anymore.

"No," William replied easily, earning an amused smile from Mary. "Actually, we have an announcement we'd like to make." Eight sets of eyes looked up curiously.

"What is it, Will?" Their mother inquired. Her expression looked hopeful, as if she knew what was coming.

Grasping Mary's hand in his own, he replied, "Mary and I are gettin' married."

Their mother nearly squealed in joy, and gushed over the two excitedly. "Oh Will, I was worried you'd never settle down! I'm so happy you've found someone, and Mary, a childhood friend no less!" The older woman clasped Mary's face between her hands, and shook it excitedly, nearly dripping with pleasure. Mary squeaked softly, but managed a small (albeit squished) smile on her face. William grimaced.

"Mum, I think you're hurting Mary," Rhys commented, wincing at the two.

"Oh, sorry dear! I'm sorry, I'm just so happy for you two! Oh, we'll need to start planning soon. Do you think a spring or summer wedding would be better? We need to find you a dress! Oh Lord I've been waiting for this day!"

Arthur, despite his previous irritation, stood up and reached over the table and shook Mary's hand firmly in his two. "Congratulations!" He said genuinely with a smile on his face, shocking everyone else in the room. Arthur's usual scowl had been engraved in his family's memory for so long it was a shock seeing him in any other expression outside of neutral and irritated. "I'd have never expected to find someone to actually manage to like William! He's a right git, he is, I must say I expected him to either die alone or drop dead from smoking all the bloody time, but it seems—"

William gritted his teeth and used the palm of his hand to roughly shove Arthur's face with enough strength to send him reeling back in his chair. "Arthur, your face is gettin' too close to mine again. You know how I feel about you breathin' the same air as me." William said with a strained smile, feeling a vein pulsating somewhere. Arthur rolled his eyes, but rubbed his face gingerly.

Rhys sighed, and leaned back on his chair. "Well, it looks like I'll be seeing your names in my work soon," he said good naturedly, gesturing to his work. Working as a calendar, Rhys documented all official businesses in the residing areas in Wales. "As if I didn't have enough already," he muttered, throwing a stack on the table noisily. "Congratulations."

Connor set his near empty bowl down on the counter with a clack, and wiped his face with his sleeve. "Yeah. Congratulations," he said dismissively, and turned to stalk out of the room. Will watched him go, eyebrows knitting together questioningly, and Rhys quietly set his chair back on four legs uncomfortably. Even Arthur looked shocked at the conduct, and he was one for doing whatever he pleased. Mary frowned, concerned.

"Don't worry about him, dear," the boys' mother said, placing her hands on the younger woman comfortingly. "He's not much of one for surprises. He'll come around soon." But even she appeared troubled.

Breaking the silence, William looked out the window, into the downpour of rain. "Are you sure you want'a go back?" He asked.

Mary nodded, still looking bothered, but shaking herself out of it. "Yes, I promised my father I'd be back today. He may have a conniption if I'm not back soon." She stood up.

"What a responsible young woman!" Their mother exclaimed. "Perhaps you boys could learn a thing or two from her," she said, elbowing William in the side. William grunted, rolling his eyes, and glanced at Rhys and Arthur who just so happened to be studying the cracks in the ceiling quite pointedly at the moment. William sighed. "I'll be back soon, depending on how Mary's father takes it and how bad the weather is," he said, leaning forward to plant an awkward kiss on their mother's cheek. "Don't fuss over it like usual."

"How can I not, especially after last night?" She replied, and even Mary shrugged in agreement. Arthur snorted, from the table.

"Yes, why don't you take Balfour with you, in case you get lost?" Arthur said sarcastically, folding his arms. William shot him a dirty look. "Alright, we'll see you soon." He growled, tugging on his jacket while Mary waited patiently. "Twit," he muttered under his breath, shooting a look at Arthur specifically. With their mother's back turned, Arthur stuck his tongue out in response, childishly. A gust of wind and rainwater blew in noisily with the slam of the door, and they left.

* * *

><p>Alfred sat on the table with a blanket around his shoulders while Arthur and Rhys studied him precariously, expressions looking thoughtful.<p>

"Perhaps if we ice it first, and then find something to wrap it with," Arthur suggested.

"No, no, it'll be much too cold on his skin," Rhys disagreed. "He could acquire an ice burn, and the area could go numb and red for a few days."

"Ice burn?" Arthur frowned, turning to look at Rhys strangely. "What?"

"It's a minor form of frostbite. Quite painful, actually." Rhys replied.

Earlier that day after William had left, Alfred had woken up in his room to find his ankle swollen red nearly three times as normal. It was painful to move let alone look at, and when Alfred had slowly slid out of bed, he found he could not apply any pressure on the ankle and foot. Arthur had to come and gingerly pick him up and carry him into the other room, setting him on the table to inspect the injury.

"It would probably help if we could see more of the injury," Arthur noted. "Hold still, lad," he said, as he slowly approached Alfred's right leg, and began rolling up the trousers.

"Try taking the sock off," Rhys added.

Arthur nodded, and slowly began peeling the black knee sock off the boy's leg. As he reached the ankle area, Alfred gasped and his leg twitched away from Arthur's hands. "Just a moment, lad." Slipping his fingers into the sock again, Arthur attempted to slide the sock around Alfred's swollen ankle only to have the boy whimper painfully as the material pressed against the tender bone.

"I can't get it off without hurting him," Arthur declared after a moment.

"You can't just take it off quickly?" Rhys asked.

"No! Don't be daft, the boy's in enough pain already," Arthur replied, scowling.

"Do you think you could take it off yourself?" Rhys asked Alfred. Alfred sniffled, and shook his head, breathing shakily. His leg trembled. "I don't know how to examine his ankle with the sock on, then." Rhys commented.

"Just a minute," Arthur said, leaving momentarily to dig around the kitchen for a pair of scissors. Retrieving them, he brought them back to the table.

"You're going to cut them?" Rhys asked incredulously. "What a waste on a pair of good socks!"

Arthur shrugged. "I'll make him another pair."

Rhys blinked. _"You_ made them?" He looked stupidly at his younger brother, as if waiting for him to take it back. When he didn't, Rhys said, "Well damn. I suppose that girly hobby came in use after all."

Arthur twitched, turning around. "It's not bloody 'girly'!" He snapped, snipping the scissors in Rhys' face haughtily. "At least I don't waste my time waiting for mum to make me a new pair each year!"

Rhys reddened. "I do not! I buy my socks, thank you!"

"Right, with," Arthur paused, to yank up Rhys' trousers. "Your initials embroidered on? Classy. Now shut up and let me work."

Rhys huffed. "I believe _I_ am the one helping you." Arthur ignored him.

"Keep your leg still, Alfred. These are sharp," Arthur commented as he made precise cuts along the inside of the sock. Finishing at the toes, he slipped off the sock easily. "I'll patch this up later," he murmured to himself, earning himself an eye roll from Rhys.

"Right then," Rhys said, pushing an affronted Arthur out of the way. "Place your feet side by side so I can examine them. When Alfred did so, Arthur sucked in a breath. "Damn," he breathed. "Are you sure you didn't break it?" He asked Alfred warily.

"No," Rhys shook his head without looking over. "If he did, he wouldn't feel anything. The pain is good. Now lets just test out the other parts of the leg." Grasping Alfred's calf (effectively causing the boy to flinch), he squeezed the calf. "Does this hurt?" Rhys asked. Alfred shook his head.

Bending the leg at the knee, he asked, "Now?" Alfred shook his head.

Squeezing the muscle lower down the boy's leg, "Here?" Shake of the head.

Pressing on the inside ankle, Alfred winced. "Not really," the boy mumbled. When Rhys gently placed a finger on the outside ankle testingly, Alfred yelped in pain and retracted his foot. Arthur tensed.

"I don't think it's broken," Rhys said slowly. "Though it could be fractioned, at worst. That or just a very bad sprain."

"How should we wrap it?"

"It's probably best to leave it alone for now; it's too tender to do anything."

"Hm," Arthur acknowledged. "Well I suppose that's all we can do. Would you like something to eat, Alfred?"

The boy shook his head slowly. "I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. How are you not hungry? You need to eat," Arthur said firmly, moving towards the kitchen. Rhys grimaced.

"Are you really going to try that again, especially after what happened last time?"

"Nothing 'happened last time'," Arthur retorted. "And that was your fault, so don't blame me for that incident." Rhys rolled his eyes, leaving the room silently.

"What would you like to eat?" Arthur prepped, looking in the cupboards.

Alfred shrugged listlessly. "I feel strange," he commented.

Arthur paused warily. "Strange how?"

"I don't know," the boy mumbled. "Not right."

Arthur stared at Alfred for a moment. "Better make soup then," he said.

* * *

><p>The next day things took a turn for the worse.<p>

Arthur probably should have realized something was wrong when Alfred unintentionally woke him up in the middle of the night, trembling so hard it nearly shook the whole bed. At the time, he merely dismissed it and pulled the covers higher and tugged the boy closer. Alfred's trembling had lessened since then, and Arthur slipped back into a dreamless sleep with Alfred tucked in his side. By morning, he had more or less forgotten about it and slipped out of bed to let the boy sleep in. It was nearly the afternoon when Arthur decided to retrieve him.

He walked in the room to find Alfred curled in a tight ball in the center of the bed. "Alfred," he called, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder to shake softly. "It's about time you get up, love."

When he didn't wake up, Arthur took to rubbing the boy's back in small circles. "Come on, lad. The day is ticking away."

Alfred's eyes cracked open, and as he opened his mouth to say something in reply, his breathing hitched and he began coughing roughlly. His eyes watered and he attempted to cover his mouth, his small frame shaking with every breath. He croaked out a soft unintelligible murmur.

"That…does not sound good," Arthur said cautiously, concern slowing etching its way across his face. "How do you feel?" He asked, laying his hand across Alfred's forehead.

The boy let an almost inaudible sigh against Arthur's cool hand. It felt nice against his warm skin. "My chest hurts…and so does my head," he said softly, blinking blearily against the light set of the room.

"And your ankle?" Arthur pressed on.

Gently pulling the sheets down, Alfred's ankle was still red and angrily swollen. Arthur stared at it for a long time.

"I'll ask mother," he finally decided on. "Here," he said, holding his arms out to scoop Alfred up. The boy couldn't help but flinch as his legs jostled around, and he clung tightly around Arthur's neck.

_He's warm, _Arthur thought to himself as Alfred rested his head against Arthur's shoulder. The boy was lightweight in his arms, to what Arthur amounted to felt like almost nothing.

"Mum!" he called out, entering the living room, to where Rhys currently resided in. "Where's mum?" He asked.

Rhys shrugged. "In her room?" he suggested mildly, glancing back at the newspaper in his hands. Arthur turned and left.

Walking down the hallway, Connor exited his room, closing the door quietly. He glanced up startedly at Arthur, looking alarmed at getting caught. "What are you doing?" He asked.

"Looking for mum. Alfred doesn't feel well. Where is she?"

"Dunno. Probably in the kitchen or her room?"

Arthur sidestepped Connor neutrally, careful not to knock Alfred's legs on anything. The boy was already falling back asleep in his arms. He was still angry with Connor, but he was more concerned with Alfred to be concentrating on his brother. Clearly, his brother felt some sort of guilt to a degree and was doing his best not to provoke him. For this Arthur was grateful, but that still didn't dissipate most of his resentment.

"Mum," Arthur called again, knocking on the door. He felt Connor's presence behind him but chose to ignore it. He entered when she invited him in.

She was sitting in her bed, tucked under the covers, reading a novel. With a cold chill in the air and a light rain shower outside, Arthur could hardly blame her for retreating to her quiet room. He blinked twice, a bout of nostalgia rising at the familiar scene, where he as a boy had so often come running to for comfort and love. He his head, drawing attention back to the existing problem.

"I think Alfred's getting sick," Arthur announced, setting the boy down on the bed. Alfred blinked tiredly and struggled to sit up, looking around.

Placing her spectacles on the table, Mrs. Kirkland slid out of the covers and examined Alfred, feeling his forehead. "Yes, he does feel warm," she confirmed. "How does he feel?"

"He claims his chest hurts as well as his head."

"It's most likely the start of a cold or some sort."

"What should we do?"

"He needs a warm bath; sometimes scrubbing the sickness off works well. The warm water should do him good, too. Then give him some warm tea to drink, and plenty of rest." Mrs. Kirkland prescribed knowledgably. "It should last a few days or so. I'm not surprised after wandering about in the rain for so long."

"I see. Thank you," he responded gratefully.

"I'll go boil some water," she said, slipping into her slippers. "Take him to the basin, and I'll wash him there." She shuffled to the kitchen.

Mrs. Kirkland had scrubbed him thoroughly, moving quickly so the boy wouldn't shudder so frequently against the cold temperature of the room and the cooling of the water. Too drained to be self-conscious over his exposure, Alfred had limply and obediently allowed the old woman to wash his hair and cleanse him without squirming. If Mrs. Kirkland had any uneasy feelings towards the sight of Alfred's light scars, she said nothing and exposed nothing in her expression. Arthur stood by in range of sight, giving a comforting smile each time Alfred peeked his eyes open to search for him. He laughed lightly when the boy sputtered as warm water was poured over his head, drenching him one last time for a rinse. From there, Arthur had taken over and wrapped the boy up a towel after collecting his clothes.

oOo

The following days passed with no improvement. If anything, Alfred's stubborn cold seemed to have gotten worse, crippling the boy into a ever-growing, perpetual lethargic state. His warm, lively, and cheery boyish demeanor was sorely missed by Arthur, and the Englishman had soon found himself working alongside the boy in their room, taking his stack of papers to a makeshift desk with a small bottle of ink and parchment set up and ready for use. Alfred had taken to drifting in and out of sleep, but seemed to spend most of his time drowsily watching Arthur work or staring into space, as if he were seeing something beyond Arthur's capabilities. Or perhaps he saw nothing at all. Arthur was never sure.

The coughing fits had become more and more frequent as of late, and Arthur cringed every time he heard the throaty coughs that seemed to reside deep within the chest cavity; as if a mess of mucus had festered in the lungs and refused to be expelled. It exhausted the poor boy, who struggled and strained to breathe afterwards, wheezing ever so slightly. Arthur found himself constantly rubbing the boy's chest comfortingly after these episodes, watching mesmerized as the boy's eyelids fluttered shut in response.

It was as if his senses had been revived, and soon Arthur became conscious he was unknowingly memorizing the tiny details that defined Alfred as he was. The soft, tender skin flecked with milky white (yet strangely beautiful) scars here and there (that would hopefully fade away with time), the amber hair that Arthur loved running his hand through, tucking a lock or two behind the boy's ears, and especially, his favorite, Alfred's brilliantly bright sky blue eyes that reminded him of a whole different world, a different life and consciousness. With Alfred sleeping so much, Arthur hadn't realized quite how much he missed seeing those eyes, and the life that emanated from the boy's face when he was happy and smiling at him.

(Deep down Arthur knew why he was doing this, but he refused, _refused_, to acknowledge the underlying reason behind it all. He wouldn't allow it to happen. He wouldn't.)

"Perhaps we should consult a doctor," Rhys suggested from the table, running his finger down a list from his stack of work papers. "I know of a few, but not enough to exhibit a friendly gesture with no payment."

Arthur cursed under his breath. "So expensive," he muttered to himself. Doctors were a special commodity they could not afford. "Anything else? Any special medication or treatment that we could possibly use or make from scratch?"

"We could scour the local bookshop," Rhys offered.

Arthur scowled. He knew damn well he _specifically_ had books regarding health back in his shop, but it was all the way back home in London. He knew the exact shelf and everything; he probably could ask Mrs. Bott's son to send it to him, but when exactly it would arrive remained unknown. He closed his eyes in frustration.

Connor, meanwhile, lingered nearby uneasily. "I'll go," he said gruffly, already pulling on his boots and overcoat. The December air was bitterly cold. "I'll bring back anything that may be of use." Arthur folded his hands in front of his face, tapping it against his chin moodily, nodding to his brother who did not take a moment to spare. When he left, Rhys asked, "Are you still angry with him?"

Arthur nodded, scowl still present. "It's his fault it's escalated to this situation."

"Come now, you know he did not intend for this to happen."

"Even so, we are dealing with the repercussions due to his foolish mistake. We are paying for it now."

"You can't hold it entirely against him; you know his intentions were well-meaning. He's partially right, you _were_ neglecting the boy."

"It wasn't intentional," Arthur muttered, looking away almost guiltily. "Anyhow, we'll have to work with what we can. I'll go help mum with dinner," He said stubbornly, rising from his chair to move to the kitchen.

(He would later attempt to coax Alfred into eating the stew his mother made, imploring him to at least take a few bites, until finally the boy managed to swallow down half the bowl despite his lack of appetite. Arthur wasn't sure what to make of this.)

It was exhausting, taking care of a sick child. He was suddenly grateful and awestruck at the same time about how his mother did it, raising the four boys almost entirely on her own.

His body felt heavier by the time the day ended, and he noted dully in the back of his mind he had hardly done anything at all but move about the house and sit at his desk. Slipping into bed each night, he wondered how tired Alfred must be to be constantly sleeping exhaustedly day after day, hour after hour. Had illnesses really taken this much out of children, or had the boy just picked up a particularly nasty cold? Either way, Arthur would be too tired to question it any longer, sleeping into a fitful sleep, one arm slung around Alfred's thin shoulders.

oOo

_Alfred stood outside a beautiful garden; it was springtime, the air was crisp and clear, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue, and flowers blossomed everywhere, taking up every inch of the area, creating a maze-like_ _backyard full of bright mysteries and child-liked wonder. A familiar laugh bubbled from around the corner, and Alfred's chest tingled with anticipation as he recognized the light soprano of a woman's voice followed by a deeper male pitch, sounding equally delighted. Alfred sprang forward eagerly, a strange pulling in his chest telling him to follow the voices. He pushed past bushes, knocking aside flowers and branches as he turned corners and walked briskly through rows of hedges in his search._

_He was so close each time; he would hear the woman's laughter ringing in the air, and he'd feel the deep longing in his chest to go towards it, but every time he grew close, he only caught a flicker and flash of her dress or the clack of her heels as she spun around corners, deeper into the maze, following the man in front of her. He'd peer around tall shrub of roses and just barely catch sight of the woman; he face, while blurry, was thrown back easily in the air as she laughed amusedly, her hands grasping onto the shoulders of the man across from her. His face was obscured, though from his posture it was evident his attention was focused entirely on her. Every time Alfred would approach them, without warning or even a glance, they would move to the next part of the garden, as if Alfred weren't even there and they were hiding from the rest of the world. He grew upset upon being ignored, and was about to chase them, if not for a more familiar, closer sounding voice._

"_Alfred! Alfred!" The voice called, and Alfred's skin prickled as he recognized it. He paused, looking around, hoping to locate it._

_It called again, and Alfred yelled back "I'm here!" desperately, sprinting to the sound. Through the branches and leaves, Alfred could see Arthur plain as day in front of him in the garden, calling his name about worriedly. He was in the best clothes Alfred had ever seen him wear; a soft cream colored suit with a white cravat. He appeared distressed, and paced back and forth._

"_Arthur!" Alfred called, and he turned around to find a corner to lead him through the maze, only to find that he was boxed in. He circled the square hedges, which seemed to grow ten times their size, towering over him like walls. His heart pounded painfully as claustrophobia began to set in. His pupils contracted and he spun around, whipping his head to look at his makeshift garden cage._

"_Alfred!" Arthur continued to call out, though this time he sounded farther away. His voice grew softer each time._

"_Arthur! Arthur, I'm here!" Alfred called out, beginning to panic. He spun around wildly yet again, trying to remember which direction Arthur was in. Hearing Arthur's voice call to him from the right, Alfred rushed to the thick lush wall of leaves and began clawing at it, frantically ripping apart branches in attempt to make a hole big enough to move through._

"_Don't leave me! Don't leave me!" Alfred shouted, ripping branches from his hands. No matter how many times he made any progress, it continued to grow back, faster each time._

_The moon began to rise as darkness crept in the garden, setting upon it like a thick, suffocating blanket. Alfred stopped thrashing at the wall before him, and the familiar feeling of fear began to set in, and suddenly he felt nauseous. His eyes flickered nervously around the garden, anticipating the familiar figure he often associated with the feeling. The tall wall of bushes that encased him began to shrivel and die, the night making it appear to turn gray and thorn-like. Everything wilted, and as Alfred released his grip of the branch in his hand, the whole thing exploded and collapsed in a smoke of ash, nearly blinding Alfred from seeing anything at all._

_A long, dimly-lit hallway materialized around him, and the hair on the back of Alfred's neck prickled in response. He recognized this place, but something in his mind prevented him from knowing where he was. All he could remember was that he was searching for something. For someone._

_It was deathly quiet, and the only noise that echoed in the hallway was the sound of Alfred's soft footsteps. He peered in the rooms around him, and found each empty aside from the rows of unmade beds in each room. Voices trickled in from somewhere, and peering into another room, he saw two silhouettes against the wall talking in hushed voices. No matter how hard he strained to hear, he could not make out nor understand what they were saying. He moved on._

_Moving down a second hallway, the wood creaked beneath his feet, and the familiar sense of longing pulled him along the narrow corridors. Pictures with obscured faces littered the walls, and the passage seemed to stretch on forever._

_Nearing the end, a lighter, sorrowful voiced called his name gently. Alfred shivered as he recognized it from earlier; the woman whom evaded him in the garden. He stopped in his tracks, and at the end of the hallway, a door swung open on its own, and the hem of the woman's dress spilled out, peeking to him from behind the doorframe. The figure sat back in room, making Alfred unable to see very much of her, but her hand reached out from behind her place and beckoned to him._

"_Alfred," she called. "Come here, darling." The hand waved him over elegantly and slowly. "Come here, please."_

_Alfred hesitated in the hallway. The longing in his chest pulled him towards the woman, but it was also accompanied by a bout of dread. He was poised halfway in the hallway, unsure whether he wanted to listen or bolt. Something felt off. The sorrow and grief the voice displayed puzzled him, frightened him._

"_Alfred," the hand beckoned. "Come here, dear."_

_Suddenly it struck him, with enough emotional force to send him reeling. He could see her face clearly in his mind for the first time in what felt like forever. While nothing in the hallway moved, a loud, deafening crack burst down the hallway, pulsing through Alfred as realization struck him like a wave. A sound like a mirror shattering reverberated down the halls._

"_Mom," he mumbled. Breaking out of his trance, he broke into a run down the corridor. "Mom! Mama!" He called, racing towards the door, heart beating frantically. Heavy footsteps pounded on the floor._

_Just as he was about to reach the room, a rough hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around and throwing him to the ground. Alfred looked up frenziedly to a face that was inches away from his, the hot breath tickling his face foully. The face before his twisted disgustedly, and while it remained blurry, Alfred felt the fear bursting out of his chest._

"_Where do you think you're going, boy?" It growled._

_Alfred screamed, louder than he ever did before, at the top of his lungs. He kicked and flailed wildly and madly, but the hand only reached for his neck and tightened, squeezing tighter and tighter, and this time Alfred knew, _knew,_ he was going to die. He choked, and hoped at least it'd be quick, so he wouldn't have to suffer much longer, and maybe—_

Alfred jerked up, gasping as he reached a sitting position in bed. He hyperventilated deeply, sweat rolling down his face in beads. He gazed around the room hysterically, trying to recall where he was and what was going on. The familiar room came back to him slowly, as he blinked away the bright lights that flashed behind his eyes. He looked beside him, and found Arthur sleeping peacefully beside him. He exhaled.

Lying back down, the images of his nightmare began to flash back at him faster than he could process, springing up all the emotions at once, overwhelming him. The fear and dread hit him quickly, and the thought of his mother alone in the dark house at the end of the hallway, beckoning for him, chilled him. He closed his eyes.

Turning to Arthur, he wrapped his small arms around the other's torso, and buried his face into Arthur's chest, muffling his soft, restrained crying. He trembled on and off, trying to calm himself.

Blinking awake, Arthur looked down to see the smaller boy buried into his night shirt. Assessing the situation blearily, Arthur pulled the boy closer to him and shushed him comfortingly. "Shh, there there, love," he said tiredly, patting the boy's head, stroking his hair repeatedly in slow motions. "There's no reason to be afraid. Go to sleep, I'm here."

Alfred clutched Arthur's shirt, and gave one last shudder, before drifting off to sleep. Arthur yawned, placing his arm over the boy protectively, and followed soon after.

* * *

><p><strong>Alfred is mixing his memories and his nightmares and fears. It's a jumbled mess.<strong>

**Not a really good stopping place, but I've been having trouble dividing this out, and I just realized everything I have/had in mind for this chapter turned out to be longer than I expected. It was either hold this hostage until I finished writing the agenda (who knows when I'd finish), or just post it up now. Turns out I didn't want to keep you guys waiting. :P**

**Sometimes I wonder if I have any readers anymore, haha. All reviews are greatly appreciated! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Omg, this is LONG overdue. I'll keep it short, this is an important chapter, and you'll see why! Everything is important, **_**everything.**_

**Sorry for any grammatical errors, as well. **

**Btw, never trust Google translate. It is sure to be wrong.**

* * *

><p>Connor pulled his coat tighter to him as he slipped out of the house into the cold winter evening, trotting across the frozen strip of land near the house into the barnyard stables where the horses were kept. The wooden door opened slowly with a loud creak, and Connor was about to shuffle in when a hand clamped on his shoulder. He jumped, yelping as he twisted around, throwing the unwanted hand off his shoulder.<p>

"Relax, s'just me," William said as he raised his hands in the air defensively.

Connor huffed irritatedly and jerked open the door, walking inside. "What do you want?" He asked.

William eyed his brother's back strangely as he followed him inside. "What's the matter with you?"

Connor walked across the stables, picking up a clump of hay and distributing it among the horses. He shrugged. "Nothin'."

"You've been avoidin' me for a while now, what is it? Somethin's obviously upsettin' you, or I wouldn't have bothered to find out."

Connor said nothing.

"Is it Mary? She's upset you don't seem to like her, and frankly I'm peeved you treated her so impolitely." William folded his arms across his chest, leaning against a pillar of wood. "If you don't like her, jus' say so. But don't be an arse about it."

Connor frowned intensely as he continued to move the hay. "S'not Mary," he muttered.

"What?"

"It's not Mary!" He repeated again. "It's…," he ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. "It's stupid. Just forget it."

"If it's not Mary, then what is it? Is it about Alfred? 'Cuz Arthur knows it's not entirely your fault and he was wrong to blame you—"

"No, it's not that! Well, yes that too, but not entirely!" Connor groaned. "Look, can we just drop it?"

William frowned. "No, I want to know what it is. If you would jus' talk to me, it wouldn't have to be this difficult." He walked closer, and grabbed his brother's shoulder before he tried to walk out. "Just tell me what your bloody problem is!"

Connor looked away uncomfortably, and William loosened his grip. "It's just…" He began.

William nodded, encouraging him to go.

"I just…I dunno, I just can't believe you're gettin' married," Connor looked at the floor, almost embarrassedly.

William dropped his grip completely, looking confused. "What?"

"I told you it's stupid, so just let me—"

"No, what is it? Is it Mary? Do you really not like her?"

"No, it's not that, I like her fine! I just feel like…almost like you're leavin' us. Our family."

William furrowed his brow. "Our family is already split up and in completely different directions. I'm the only one who hasn't left, really. Still in the same house as when we were young. You left for Ireland, Arthur moved to London, and bloody hell, even Rhys moved to Wales! What exactly are you talkin' about?"

"You're getting married Will! It'll be like we don't even matter anymore!" Connor yelled, raising his voice for the first time in a while. He pushed William out of the way as he moved to pet one of the horses. "You'll probably move to a stupid house in the countryside an' forget all about us, because you're a bloody stupid, thickheaded idiot!"

"Hey!" William protested angrily, but dropped it immediately when he noticed the tension in his brother's back. Softening, he walked next to Connor and leaned against the door to the horse's stable, watching as Connor brushed the fur tensely.

"Look," he said gently. "Just because I'm gettin' married doesn't mean I'm about to leave you lot behind because I've found someone else. It just means I've found someone whom I want to be with. Nothin' really changes, except that we've added one more person to the family. And it's not a bad thing; it's gonna be no different from when you get married, when Rhys gets married, and hell, even Arthur. There's nothin' to be sad about, it's just another step in life, an extension to the family we never had."

Connor was quiet. Finally, he mumbled, "We were supposed to travel the world together."

William chuckled sadly. "You knew it was a large dream. We've never had any money, not now, not ever."

"What about all that money you were hoardin'?"

"Just enough to buy Mary a proper ring, and some extra for ourselves. Took a bloody long time and lots of odd jobs to save up enough, lemme tell you."

Connor smiled sadly, petting the large horse in front of him slowly. The animal's ears twitched and its big eyes stared solemnly between the two boys as it chewed on the hay.

William sighed. He slung an arm around Connor's shoulders and pulled him in roughly, ruffling his hair fondly. "Don't mope around so much, s'makin me depressed. You'll always be my best mate, now, then, an' forever always."

Connor chuckled, ducking out of the headlock William supported him in, and shoved him roughly aside, laughing. "Stop it, you've always got to ram your knuckles through someone's skull, you know that? I don't fancy the bald look, I'll have you know!"

William tossed back his head as he barked in laughter. "That was once! And it wasn't even you, it was Rhys! Bloody hell, when was that, a decade ago?"

Connor snickered. "Bloody hell, you ripped his hair out!" He grabbed his sides as he howled in laughter, leaning against the wood post supporting the stables. William laughed, his face crinkling in amusement.

"Oh bugger off," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "It was an accident! It all grew back in time. It wasn't nearly as bad as the time you accidently ripped Arthur's shirt clean off his back!"

"That was an accident, I didn't know it was so thin!"

"You should've seen the look on your face!" William pointed, doubling over in laughter. "You would've thought you'd seen a ghost!"

"Well, it didn't help that Arthur started cryin'," Connor replied, chuckling at the memory, wiping at his eyes. "I forgot it was a hand-me-down, so it was well worn out."

"Mum was murderous," William mused, finally calming down as the moment subsided. He took a seat against the stable door, running a hand through his hair as he smiled at the recollection. Connor slid down next to him.

"It was fun," Connor concluded, poking at the ground with a piece of hay. "Things were so much easier then." William nodded.

"How's Ireland?" he asked, nudging the other boy. "Try any of the 'local cuisine'?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Stop," Connor smiled, punching his brother in the arm. "And well…there is this one girl…" he trailed off.

William twisted his head in shock. "Bugger off, you didn't!"

"I didn't do anything!" Connor exclaimed. "She's just...I dunno, nice. I fancy her well enough, perhaps had a cup o' tea or two…"

"What's her name?" William asked, pulling out a cigarette. He offered a puff to Connor, who took one after a moment's thought.

"Rose. Rose Edwards." He coughed at the smoke. "Pretty thing."

"So you've got someone you have your eye on," William drawled out, exhaling. "And you've made a big fuss over my own marriage? Idiot."

Connor scoffed, furrowing his brow. "It's strange, I can't describe it. Kind of lonely. Kind of like the shock we got when we found out Arthur got Alfred."

Wiliam grew silent at that, and Connor stared guiltily at the ground in front of him. His eyes flickered from Will's face back to the ground nervously.

"Arthur's awfully fond of him," Will said finally. He exhaled.

"How's the kid doing?" Connor asked uneasily.

Another pause. He offered the cigarette out, and Connor took a long drag on it.

"Not good. Not good at all."

Connor closed his eyes, paling at the news. "I never meant for it to be this way."

"I know," William supported. "No one did. It wasn't your intention, and Arthur knows it, he's just too stubborn to admit it. We should've known."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Mary's tryin' her best. She and Arthur have traveled to the neighbors askin' for anything."

"Any luck?"

"Not much. Perhaps some extra food at most, but nothing substantial. We can't afford much else with our wages."

Connor cursed under his breath, and rested his face in his hands. "I don't know what I'm going to do if…" he trailed off.

"Stop, Connor. We're doing all we can, and it's not just your fault, it's all of ours. Unfortunately, even though Alfred's a good kid, there's only so much we can do."

"I…I need to do something. I can't just sit around, walkin' on eggshells around Arthur. I'll go to the city." Connor made a move to get up.

"Stop! You can't go now, are you daft? You'll bloody freeze to death and get lost! Christ, you haven't learned anything from this have you?" William exclaimed. Connor winced.

Controlling his temper, William said, "We'll go tomorrow if nothing changes. We might be able to find something in Edinburgh, or Glasgow if it comes down to it. As for now, _no _rash decisions that may get anyone else hurt or _sick."_

Connor swallowed, and nodded.

"Now come off it for now," William quipped, patting his brother's cheeks good-naturedly. Connor scowled in response.

"We'll take care of this."

* * *

><p>Arthur could quite literally feel the bags beneath his eyes.<p>

Sickness, in its purest and most undiluted form, was often the closest companion to death and the bridge to life after death.

It was absolutely painful trying to get the boy to eat, as he had no appetite whatsoever; ironically enough, these were the times where he displayed most of his energy, which, at most, involved him shaking his head lethargically, and pushing a weak hand against Arthur's. His coughing fits were worse than ever, he hardly left the bed, and his eyes had taken to a glassy fish-like stare sleepily gazing at nothing and everything at the same time.

Arthur hated it, hated feeling useless and unable to do anything to help. As much as he wanted to blame Connor for the whole ordeal, a deep part of him knew he was just as responsible for it as anyone else. Perhaps he if he had done something different; if only he pushed off some paperwork later, or asked for someone else to divide it with, or just spent at least an _hour_ entertaining the lad instead of becoming so damn absorbed, maybe things would be different, maybe—

Coughing erupted from beside him, and Arthur immediately turned to help the boy into a sitting position, rubbing circles into Alfred's back as he hacked away a deep throaty sound. The gasps of air that often followed were almost painful to listen to, but Arthur murmured softly, "That's a lad, clear it out of your system."

The door opened, and Mary entered quietly. She gazed at the scene in the room, understanding the current state without having to ask. She set a cold bucket of water on the floor next to the bed, and Arthur accepted it wordlessly.

Mary pressed her lips in a tight line, clasping her hands before her tensely. Silently, she placed a hand on Arthur's shoulders, and quietly said, "Arthur, I have to go." She paused, as if to say more, but thought the better of it.

Arthur looked up at her tiredly from his position, as he registered what was said. It'd been so quiet in the house as of late, it was almost strange to hear sound.

Arthur nodded, and gazed at her sorrowfully. She returned the expression sadly with understanding, but offered no soothing words. Instead, she rubbed his shoulder in consolation, and turned to leave just as quietly as she entered.

With trembling hands, Arthur dipped a washcloth in the bucket of water, and wringed out the excess water before placing it on the sickly boy's forehead. He knew what was coming. They all knew what was coming. At this state and condition of the illness after so long, it wasn't difficult to piece together the prognosis, unless a miracle or professional medical attention suddenly became available.

At this rate, it would just be a delay of the inevitable.

Arthur rested his head on the mattress, folding his arms before him. The trembling had spread, taking over his whole frame, and it took him a while to realize what it was. He chilled.

Fear.

He was afraid.

Death, it seemed, was close at hand, close enough to be present in the room, suffocating its presence over the two of them, waiting, and Arthur felt himself shrink as he squeezed his eyes closed as if ignoring it would make it go away.

A memory came to him, floating from his childhood, vaguely, distinctly—

"_Mum, where's William?" A young Arthur inquired with big, owlish eyes, pulling along the hems of his mother's apron._

"_He's outside, dear. It's best to leave him alone."_

"_Why? What is he doing?"_

"_He's mourning. Dottie passed away, and he's very sad at the moment, especially with everything that happened." Mrs. Kirkland pressed her lips in a tight line grievously as she prepared dinner. _

_(Arthur, at the time, had just been explained by Rhys that their father had left permanently. It didn't leave much of an impact of him, as he had not seen the man frequently enough to have a lasting bond or relationship. Now that he recalled, William had stalked out of the house a lot at the time without even Connor for companionship, and had taken to isolating himself with Dottie, the tiny dog he had discovered in the streets.)_

_Despite realizing this, he asked confusedly, "What does passing away mean? Passing away where?"_

"_Passing on to heaven, you idiot," Connor had cut in insensitively from his window seat, where he was watching outside. "Dottie is dead, and never coming back." He glared out the window._

_Arthur shrank against his mother's side smally as she reprimanded Connor harshly. Connor looked away and apologized. When he announced he was going outside to talk to William, Mrs. Kirkland shook her head._

"_No, Connor, leave him alone. Let him say his final goodbye." She trailed off._

_Recollecting himself, Arthur joined Connor at the window, and they watched silently as William finished burying the small dog, and evened out the soil, placing a large rock at the head of the makeshift grave. He sat outside and stared at it for a long time, unmovingly. Even then, the scene of his elder brother kneeling before a grave chilled him, as he finally comprehended the concept of death._

Arthur shuddered, and buried his head deeply into the bed, blocking out all visible light. Death was a funny thing, he thought to himself cynically. How strange it is for a person to be so fully alive and well one moment, nearly bursting with life and personality, to eventually reach the end of their life, cold and unmoving? How exactly does a person die? Does the soul leave the body as life leaves the eyes, or do they merely wither and rot within their physical shells? Can the soul be captured and contained, and is it needed to be considered alive? It was difficult for Arthur to question and wrap his head around it, when ever fiber of his being rejected the whole concept entirely.

Existing, what did it mean to exist?

_It isn't fair, _Arthur thought to himself bitterly. _It isn't fair. What's the point of building relationships that will only expire in time? There's no point in making any lasting relationships._

Alfred was going to die, _he was going to fucking die, _all because of one stupid mistake that could have easily been prevented. And if under any other circumstances, the situation would have been easy to remedy, but the circumstances weren't different, because life isn't fair, life isn't _fucking_ fair—

"Arthur," a soft voice croaked out softly, as a hand placed itself delicately on his head. "Why are you crying?"

Arthur flinched, and lifted his head slowly too look at the boy. "I'm not crying, love," he sniffed. He ruffled Alfred's hair fondly. "Not crying at all." He forced a small smile.

Alfred smiled tiredly in response, and leaned into Arthur's hand. "Arthur," he asked tentatively, softly. "Can you tell me a story?"

"Yes, of course," replied Arthur, as he wiped one of his eyes inconspicuously. He reached for the book of fairy tales. "I suppose we can catch up on reading," he said with a small resentful laugh. He cracked open the book.

The boy shook his head weakly. "Tell me one you know."

Arthur blinked at that, but closed the book and prepped, "Yes, um, let's see."

Leaning heavily on the bed next to Alfred, the small candle lit on the nightstand next to them offered the only light, illuminating the room in a dreamlike atmosphere as night began to set in. Arthur propped himself on one arm thoughtfully, as Alfred curled next to him with the brightest lit eyes Arthur had seen in a while. It was clear the boy was still very exhausted, but seeing so much enthusiasm after a long period of listlessness encouraged Arthur.

"Once upon a time…" he began slowly, grasping around mentally for something to latch on and build from. "Once upon a time there was a dragon, who lived all by himself in a cave in the mountains. He was very lonely, because none of the other dragons wanted to be friends with him."

He paused, thinking carefully.

"Below his cave, was a village full of people. From the mountains, the dragon could see them perfectly. The people danced and laughed and told stories around fires at night, and always appeared to be having a good time. The dragon watched them for a very long time and became jealous. He wanted to be happy as the people were."

Arthur paused again, this time to allow the information to sink in. Alfred looked at him dreamily, easily getting lost in the narrative.

"So one day, after watching the people for so long, the dragon exited his cave and began to take villagers back to his cave. He'd fly over the village in the middle of the night as the people danced around fires, and snatch one person in his sharp claws, and carry them back to his lair. The people were terrified.

The first villager he stole was an elderly man, and the man was so afraid upon being taken away that he fainted. The dragon didn't know what happened, and eventually fell asleep, ignoring the human. In the middle of the night, the elderly man woke up, and ran away."

Alfred's eyes widened, and he coughed silently. "He ran away?"

"Yes. He was very frightened and left in the night when the dragon was sleeping." Continuing on, Arthur said, "The next day, upon discovering the man had disappeared, the dragon became very angry. When nighttime fell, he returned to the village, and kidnapped another villager, this time a farmer boy. The dragon stayed awake all night to ensure the boy wouldn't leave, and wrapped his tail around the villager. But sure enough, when the dragon slept, the boy slipped out and ran away.

Furious by now, by the next night, the dragon flew out of his cave to the village. This time, instead of finding the villagers outside dancing under the stars like normal, they were all inside hiding. Unfortunately, a young maiden hadn't made it in time to her home, and the dragon took her away to his cave, and caged her in his sharp claws. This time he was sure the villager wouldn't escape.

However, the dragon wasn't the only one angry. The villagers were outraged that their people were being kidnapped in the middle of the night—a time they cherished and enjoyed for themselves—by a big monster that didn't belong in the area. By the next morning, the villagers stormed the dragon's cave with torches and pitchforks, eager to defend their village as well as rescue the young maiden."

"Did the dragon eat them?" Alfred asked in a small voice.

"No," Arthur gently replied. "It was a long battle, but the villagers managed to wound the dragon enough and rescue the young maiden. They ran back to the village to celebrate their victory, but it wasn't for long."

Alfred's eyes widened, and he swallowed nervously.

"Hurt by the village's anger and violence, the dragon returned to the village for the last time, and breathed fire on all the houses and huts. The people ran outside and screamed in terror, but the dragon didn't stop. By the time he was finished, the whole village was on fire and nearly reduced to piles of standing ash." Alfred gasped.

"He killed them?" The boy asked weakly.

"No," Arthur shook his head, tucking a lock of blond hair behind Alfred's ear. "Knowing they could not live there peacefully any longer, the villagers ran to the forest to hide. When the dragon realized they were all gone, he returned to his cave alone. Now, the dragon was completely alone, and for many days—a whole year passed—the dragon was lonely and sad. He had no friends, and had made none.

Then one day, a knight was traveling through the forest by foot, and stumbled across the villagers. Wondering why they were hiding in the dangerous forest instead of next to it, he asked some of the villagers why. They explained to him that a dragon chased them from their homes and forced them to live there. The knight, however, became very interested in the villager's story, and promised to slay the dragon and free the village. He continued through the forest despite the people's protests of danger.

On his journey, the knight came under attack from a pack of wolves. His strong armor protected him, but it was dented in several places, and he was weak from the tough fight. He climbed up the mountain, sure to be away from the wolves, and collapsed in a cave and slept for a very long time.

The next day, upon finding a person in his cave, the dragon approached the knight curiously. At the same time, the pack of wolves returned to kill the knight. Shocked someone actually approached him first, the dragon breathed fire to scared the wolves away, and then took the knight deeper in his cave to protect.

After a long time, the knight awoke to find himself in the clutches of a dragon. He was shocked and a little afraid, but still too injured to move properly. He had no choice but to stay."

"What did he do?" Alfred asked. "Did he kill the dragon in its sleep?"

"He stayed and planned a way to defeat the dragon, and tried to trick the dragon into letting him go, but the dragon was smarter than that. However, upon hearing the dragon's story of loneliness, the knight grew sad, and ignored all previous intentions. They found good company in each other, and even after the knight had healed up, he found he didn't want to leave. He was happy, and for the first time in his life, the dragon was happy too. They became friends."

Alfred's eyes widened, his cheeks flushed. "Is that it?"

"No, lad," Arthur murmured gently. "One day, the people of the village finally grew angry of the dragon forcing them from their homes, and raised an army. They wanted to kill the dragon and rescue the knight, and hopefully be able to live in their old village without fear. So the gathered themselves and climbed up the mountains with torches and pitchforks.

The knight heard the noise outside, and tried to tell the dragon to leave immediately. But the dragon refused, and soon the villagers made it to the edge of the cave angrily. The knight tried to convince them to stop, but it only made the villagers more furious. They attacked the dragon.

The dragon screeched furiously as the villagers attacked, and the knight got trampled in the chaos. It was a long fight, but eventually the villagers left, and when the dragon wasn't looking, they took the knight far away. When the dragon discovered this, he was absolutely enraged and heartbroken at the same time. He searched far and wide for the knight."

"Where was the knight?" Alfred breathed sleepily.

"They locked him away," Arthur replied solemnly. "The knight could hear the dragon's searching screeches from his prison, but the dragon could not find nor hear him. So that's why when you hear the wind screeching outside your window, it's actually the dragon searching for his long lost friend."

"That's so sad," Alfred mumbled unhappily. His eyelids drooped, and he slid closer to the English man, wrapping his arms around the man's torso. He mumbled something into Arthur's shirt, and Arthur patted his head comfortingly.

Arthur leaned back to blow out the candle on the nightstand. He wrapped the boy's small arms around him into a more comfortable position.

"Good night, love."

* * *

><p>Footsteps clunked down the hallway noisily, and William swung the door open to Arthur's room haphazardly.<p>

"Arthur," William called gruffly, gripping the doorknob. "Connor, Rhys, and I are goin' to the city to see if we can find anything. Jus' lettin' y'know."

Arthur cracked his eyes open blearily. "Sh!" He hissed sleepily, and covered his eyes from the abrupt noise and light entering the room. Without moving, he croaked, "D'you want me to come too?"

William winced. "Sounds like you're comin' down with somethin', too. No, just stay here, we'll prob'ly be back by the end o' the day."

"Mkay," Arthur sighed, and turned on his side, drifting back to sleep.

William closed the door silently behind him, and nodded to his brothers who waited patiently behind in the hall. They exited the house (with Connor sneaking a loaf of bread under his arm) with a quick farewell to Mrs. Kirkland, and headed for the horses. After whistling for Balfour (who came sprinting from inside the house) the three brothers took off.

"Be careful for ruts in the ground," William called behind him. "The ground is still soft from the rain so it'll be slippery. A broken horse is a useless horse."

Normally, in comparison to walking, a trip to Edinburgh was two to three times faster if traveled by horse. But due to the recent heavy rain shower, movement and travel was slower to due heavy precautions and risk in the soft ground. It had taken longer than usual to reach the country's capital, and by the time they made it to their destination it nearly wasted an hour of the day.

"It'll probably be fastest if we split up," Rhys commented as they reached the edge of the city. "We can sweep the city much faster."

"Hold on, let's not just go blowin' money on rubbish," William warned. As the majority of it was his own money, he wasn't eager to spend a lot of it, even for a good cause. It had taken him too damn long to save all of it, and he wasn't about to let his brothers splurge it in a moment of stupidity.

"We know," Connor rolled his eyes. "Though Rhys is probably right. We'll meet back at the train station at noon and report anything we find. Rhys can take downtown, and you and I can split the east and west sides."

William snorted. "I doubt they'll be anything in the wealthier neighborhoods, but alright. Anyhow, meet back at noon at the far side of the station, and if you get lost, _don't be an idiot." _He glared specifically at Connor, whom appeared affronted at the insinuation. "Just ask for bloody directions. We know whom we're doing this for, yeah?"

Connor glared away at the ground guiltily. "Yeah, yeah." He muttered. Turning his horse, he announced, "I got the east side. I'll meet you guys then."

Rhys turned to William and nodded, before taking off downtown. William watched them both go silently before heading in the opposite direction.

It was long time spent traveling through the different parts of the city, and in William's case he found it difficult speaking to the upper class members of society. It wasn't so much on William's part as it was the other person. He knew his social ranking was lower and attempted to be polite and humble about it as much as possible, but it was irritating to see the wealthier residents turn themselves away upon his appearance. In the beginning he tried asking passing strangers on the streets, but as the hours ticked on he grew restless and began knocking individually on doors. He knew he was out of place in such nice surroundings (his muted and dirty colored clothing was a big indicator), but the only thing that kept him motivated was his guilt.

He had to see this through to the end, even if it meant purchasing a grave.

After a few hours to no avail, William trudged back to the train station defeatedly, pulling on the reigns of his horse. He plopped down on an empty bench and folded his arms across his chest reclusively, trying to ignore the guilt ebbing away at him.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The clock tolled, indicating the twelfth hour of the day. William frowned, dully wondering when his brothers would show up.

(Late, if the past were any indicator. He just hoped he wouldn't have to waste time looking for them.)

He exhaled again, trying to edge away from the overwhelming feeling that threatened to envelop him. William closed his eyes, trying to melt into the moment.

Thousands of footsteps clacking against damp concrete.

Bags being tossed off the train in a hurry, dresses dragging at the floor.

Pocketwatches ticking mercilessly everywhere, eventually snapping shut.

His horse snorting softly behind him.

Millions of voices chattering eagerly and urgently, each word hanging in the air, floating away.

There was a different one, a different voice with a different lyrical melody to it; it was deep of a man's, but spoken nasally and in the back of the mouth at the same time. Each word was brisk and clear, but managed to blend into one another harmoniously.

It was sweet, pleasurable to the ear.

It was haughty, unfavorable to the persona.

French. William wrinkled his nose.

The ongoing slur of the language spoken loudly and arrogantly without pause served only to scratch its claws on the inside of William's skull. He furrowed his brows irritatedly and attempted to ignore it with every fiber of his being, subconsciously shifting himself away from the source. Just when William was about to crack open his eyes to take a look at the scene, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, distracting him. He looked up.

"I haven't found much of anything tangible on the east side except for a few herbs, but there was a lot of advice I gathered from locals," said Connor, pocketing a small pouch in his side. "I'm sure something will be useful, I've written most of it down."

"It's a good start," William agreed, sitting up. "Have you seen Rhys? I suppose he didn't come with you."

"Nope. Poor bugger probably got lost."

"Can't say I'm much surprised."

"Well, you'd think he'd know his way around well enough, being a big bookworm and such—"

A loud displeased voice cut through the air, followed by a flurry of angry French. William twisted in his seat to look around at what caused the commotion.

Turning around, upon first glance would appear an extremely well dressed upper class Frenchman with long blonde curls tied up in a low ponytail, gesturing angrily at a soon to be riled up Scotsman working the station. The banter between the two began to stir into something much louder, but it wasn't the scene that caught William's eyes.

What really caught William's eye, was the small blonde boy that stood timidly behind the Frenchman, clutching a stuffed white bear that was nearly the same size as the boy himself. The boy cringed at the loud voices began shrieking at each other.

It was an exact replica of Alfred.

"Connor," William snapped, grabbing the other man by the collar and yanking him down roughly to his level. "Do you see that?" He asked slowly.

"See what?" Connor asked irritatedly, jerking himself free from William's iron hold. "What are you talking—" He trailed off, his voice growing quiet.

"Bloody hell," he gasped. "What the bloody fuck?"

"They have got to be related, I've never seen anyone look so bloody similar in my life," William declared.

"Well, they say everyone has a twin somewhere in the world," Connor suggested weakly.

"Look at him!" William exclaimed, yanking on Connor's collar again, much to the latter's distaste. "There's no way in bloody hell that isn't Alfred's brother. If his hair were any shorter, I'd say he _was_ Alfred."

"Well what do you intend to do?" Connor demanded crossly, removing himself from William's grip for the second time. "Ogle him all day or what?"

"Did Arthur ever mention Alfred having a twin?" William insisted instead. "Did he ever say anything like that?"

"I don't bloody know!" Connor cried out exasperatedly. "I haven't exactly been speaking to the bloke much since I pissed him off!"

"Watch my horse while I go ask," William yelled, as he took off after the group that was beginning to turn away and get lost in the crowd. The Scotsman pushed through people, not even uttering an apology at their expense, he was so determined not to lose sight of them. He couldn't let this go.

Perhaps it was due to the heat of the moment, but when he finally came in arm's length of the boy, he couldn't help but grab the boy's shoulder and spin him around a bit roughly. It had always been a minor drawback for him, but it was a little late to remedy that fault.

"_Papa!" _The boy gasped frightenedly as he fell on the ground roughly, his hand ripped out of the older man's. William winced at that, and attempted to help the child up, only to be punched in the face, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"_Ce que l'enfer pensez-vous que vous faites?" _The voiced demanded, yelling in William's face as the Frenchman pulled the younger boy behind him protectively. "_Comment osez-vous toucher mon garçon! Étiez-vous essayer de lui voler?"_

William gaped wildly at the onslaught of French before him. "J-je suis désolé," he stumbled out, racking his brain for any French. Damn it all to hell! If only he had paid attention to the agonizing lessons his mother had tried to teach him as a child. "Listen, _s'il vous plait,_ I have reason to believe that child," he pointed to the small boy, "is related to my brother's kid."

"_Un autre enfant?" _The Frenchman asked suspiciously. "_Non, je ne crois pas. Vous mentez." _He took the boy by the hand and began to turn away.

"No, wait!" William called desperately, and already the crowd was beginning to push him around, growing thicker as the scene seemed to dissipate. If this all turned out to be a mistake, then to hell with it. But he had to try anything and everything, just to be sure. "We have a kid at home who looks just like him! His name is Alfred!"

The boy, who was walking hand in hand with the Frenchman, froze. The man looked down concernedly and said, _"Mathieu? Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas? N'écoutez pas cet homme, il est fou."_

The boy's bright bluish orbs gazed up at the Frenchman uncertainly, and shyly looked back at William, who appeared to be holding his breath. Both of them paused to look back confusedly and questioningly. The Frenchman's eyes were not without deep suspicion, however.

"Please," William tried again (and somehow Connor managed to drag two horses with him on the station past security, how he did that William didn't know nor question at the moment), "Do you speak English? _Anglais?"_

"What are you doing?" Connor hissed into his ear. "It's probably just some random kid! He's French, can't you tell?" William ignored him.

The boy, whom William assumed was named Matthew (at least that was what he thought he heard, for all he knew it could have been French, and not a name) murmured something up to the Frenchman, who murmured something back. It appeared to go for a while (long enough for William to second guess himself), until they must have reached consensus, because the boy dragged the reluctant looking Frenchman behind him, back towards William cautiously.

"My brother, you have him?" The boy asked shyly in lightly accented English. He clutched his guardian with a shaking hand.

Connor widened his eyes and muttered a shocked curse under his breath in disbelief. William was just as shocked, but nodded solemnly.

"Yes. Yes we do."

* * *

><p><strong>AHHH, FINISHED. Aloha from Hawaii~! :D <strong>

**Guys, I am so sorry this took so long, frankly it really shouldn't have. After my last update, I was really excited to start this chapter, but I was totally swamped with schoolwork and finals and all that biz…Not to mention in the meantime I caught a cold again and RETWISTED my ankle again, and had to start wearing a big ugly blue cast! It was pretty damn miserable. I knew **_**exactly **_**how Alfred feels, so much of my own misery was channeled haha (a little exaggerated though). But enough of my whining and excuses.**

**Lol, idk if I have any readers left, but if you're all still out there and interested, please leave me a review to let me know! Reviews feed my muse, and keep me going haha. I love feedback! **


	10. Chapter 10

**GUYS, WHERE IS THE HETALIA FANDOM? IT FEELS LIKE IT VANISHED SINCE THE BLOODBATH. :c**

**Anyway, terribly sorry for the long wait! Life has been RIDICULOUSLY BUSY (not even exaggerating) and this is the busiest time of the year! I'm sorry everyone!**

**This chapter makes me want to gouge my eyes out, but I'm uploading anyway for all you kind folk. If you're still here, thank you so much for sticking with me! *kisses***

* * *

><p>The trip back to the house was the most uncomfortable fucking thing William had ever experienced in his life.<p>

And that included the awkward bonding time with Alfred during the whole excursion and ordeal, and even topped yesterday's embarrassingly sappy heart to heart man talk with Connor.

He looked back uneasily to his brothers, who were _hilariously_ sharing a horse due to congeniality and consideration towards their new guests. In any other situation, William would have laughed until he turned blue. In effort to ease the suspicious Frenchman's nerves and distrust, he had generously offered Connor's horse as ways of transportation back to their humble home. (Said Irishman had been rightly outraged and did not hesitant in the least at tackling Rhys off his horse as soon as him came to the station.

"_Hey, _hey!_ What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"_

"_Oh belt up and shove off!"_

"_W-what are you do—WRAHHHH—!")_

It was pretty damn hilarious in Will's opinion and he almost burst into laughter had not the Frenchmen behind him raised a brow unamusedly. The boy—Matthew?—also seemed largely unaffected by the scene, but Will figured it was just the apprehension upon hearing news of his brother. The ground was still moist, making it slow for travel, so William just prayed the Frenchman's patience lasted until they reached home.

"Will you two _shut up?_" William hissed at Connor and Rhys's incessant hushed arguments, after the humor died down. His eyes nervously flickered towards their guests, who were trotting along next to them with considerable space between. They clearly did not trust them (perfectly understandab when one looked at the difference in their clothes. From what he could judge, it was clearly an upperclass Frenchman with his son/brother in similar dress. Will was beginning to feel even more self conscious about his clothes, and he _never_ thought about it before). "Do any of you remember any French? He looks like he's about to bolt any minute. Let's keep him talkin' so he'll relax."

"So you really think whisperin' to us is gonna make him feel better?" Connor retorted. "It probably makes us look like thieves even more! He probably thinks we're gonna jump him any minute!"

William blinked, then hissed back, "My point exactly!"

Rhys finally whispered back, "Shut up! I got this, fortunately I haven't forgotten much." Navigating his horse closer to their guests (with Connor sitting behind him gripping the back of the saddle looking absolutely murderous to Will's good humor), he politely asked the other man something in French.

"Him and his flowery French shit," Connor mocked, whispering it to Will, who snickered in response. A sharp jab to the gut elicited a pained grunt from him, and Rhys continued with his conversation.

The conversation continued for a good while, and successfully the Frenchman looked considerably less tense. He was still cautious, but not so overly suspicious.

"What did he say?" William prepped in a hushed tone. He only picked up bits and pieces of the conversation, but he wanted to clarify.

"His name is Francis Bonnefoy, and the lot down at the station misplaced his bags. He's here visiting with a friend who hasn't yet arrived," Rhys relayed.

"The conversation lasted a lot longer than that," Connor commented. "What the hell else were you asking him?"

"I just asked him about some small villages in France, and commented on how pretty the country is, and how I've read some French literature before. He is especially fond of the works written by Voltaire and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, though that's not surprising."

"You actually paid attention to all that barmey mum taught us?" Connor asked incredulously. "No bleedin' way!"

Will rolled his eyes. "Rhys has always been an avid reader, like Arthur, only he reads literature from other countries too. You know this, Connor," he said, sounding bored.

"Yeah," Connor replied, still looking dubious. "But who would've known knowing all that French rubbish would actually benefit in the future? Looks to me like Rhys is a top notch kiss arse—"

He was immediately cut off as an elbow jabbed sharply into his chest, catching him by surprise and efficiently knocking the air out of him, and he all but fell off the horse and flat on his back into a soft pile of mud. He groaned.

William barked in laughter and the group continued on.

"Looks to me like you're the arse now!"

* * *

><p>The Frenchman held tightly onto the reigns of the horse, and glanced around warily over the head of the small child. They had been riding for a while now, and while the British man had spoken to him in his native tongue, it did only little to ease his nerves.<p>

This was not an ideal situation. Francis Bonnefoy would never have guessed two nights ago he'd be where he was now. His Spanish friend, Antonio Hernandez Carriedo, had followed their Belgian friend faithfully up to Britain to visit her new fiancé. Francis knew dully in the back of his head that Antonio had feelings for the woman (he had introduced them to each other after all, as she was a dear friend of his too) and it was only an unfortunate happening that she fell in love with someone else.

So when Antonio had found out she would be in Britain for some time, he opted to follow hopefully in some mind that she'd fall for him. Of course when he looked to Francis so expectantly, he had no choice but to agree, and followed the Spaniard for the second time into Britain. Francis knew it was in vain, but as much as he tried to tell his Spanish friend, he seemed oblivious to reality and continued his positive, hopeful attitude at winning the woman's heart. It almost physically hurt Francis to think about the amount of heartbreak his dear friend would have to suffer before moving on. He then had taken Matthew as well to accompany him, as Francis Bonnefoy had no other relatives to look after the newly adopted boy.

(It would have been a bad idea anyhow to continuously move the child from one strange face to another; Francis could relate well to the mind and behavior of a young child and instinctively knew that consistency was key. It pleased him even more that Matthew had picked up on French so fast, and even seemed to grow fond of him as well. He was a shy little thing, quiet and a bit of a crybaby, but Francis had only found it more endearing. Holding the boy in his arms made him truly feel like the guardian he was never fortunate to have.)

The British men were strange, and it was quite obvious even to Francis's eyes that they were brothers both in appearance and personality. By the looks of their clothes they weren't so well off either, and it was a nagging worry in the back of Francis's mind that he and Matthew were not being led to some big gypsy camp where they would be mugged. Gypsy camps had sprung up nearly everywhere in Continental Europe, and frankly the Frenchman wouldn't be surprised if Britain had their fair share either. The thought of it made Francis's heart pound and his hand pulled Matthew tighter to him involuntarily.

The small boy peered up at the Frenchman with blue owlish eyes questioningly. All the child's worries and hopes and fears seemed to be on display on his expression.

"_Are you sure about this, my dear?" _He murmured quietly in French.

The boy nodded silently, and cast his eyes downward. Francis sighed, and patted the boy's head comfortingly. They could hope for the best, but they could expect nothing. Francis wasn't sure what they'd do if it turned out to be a hoax.

Thankfully, a house appeared in sight and Francis's fears of a gypsy pack were immediately dimmed. They came this far into foreign territory unscathed, they might as well finish the journey.

The brothers brought the horses to the stables, where the Britons jumped off the horses and put them away, while Francis and Matthew stood waiting. A small hand slipped into Francis's, and he squeezed it comfortingly as the boy clung to his side.

"This way," William's thick Scottish accent directed.

The group of men entered the house, trailed only by the two guests. Upon entering, it was everything Francis expected; a simple middleclass house on the outskirts of a big city. It was a bit dirty and smelled a bit musty, but it was homely to say at the very least. However, the well-to-do wealthy Frenchman couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at it, raising a brow distastefully at the dirt and general glum atmosphere.

A clatter and clang echoed from the kitchen, followed by an old woman's light scolding. The group moved to the kitchen to find a pale Arthur with a blanket around his shoulders attempting to cook a pot of, well, a pot of _something. _William wrinkled his nose.

"The hell were you tryin' to make this time?" He questioned, staring suspiciously at his brother.

"Soup," Arthur responded stiffly, and his eyes flashed daringly at his brother, almost waiting for a comment. When none came, he sniffed and continued, "I almost had it too, but we didn't have enough spices."

Judging by the thick smell of burnt cooking in the air, William seriously doubted the lack of spices were to make of the smell, but didn't say anything. Arthur was really beginning to look sick, with his pale complexion and red eyes and nose. He looked tired.

Apparently that didn't stop Connor from commenting. "I don't think it's a real good idea for a sick person to cook."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Thank you for the input, Connor," he deadpanned. His voice sounded a tad nasally. "Did you lot find anything? You were gone for a while, did you find a doctor? It seems—" He immediately trailed off as he noticed the stranger stranding stiffly in the hall. He was about to continue talking until he noticed the small child step from behind the stranger timidly. Arthur gasped, staring open-mouthed at the child speechlessly.

"Arthur," Rhys stepped in. He gestured to the stranger. "This is Francis Bonnefoy. He is visiting from France, and he doesn't speak much English it seems. We spotted him at the station and found that Matthew," he gestured to the child, "wants to see if we have his brother."

Arthur stared at Matthew in disbelief. He paused for several moments, trying to form words. Instead he swallowed nervously, and his heart constricted as he glanced back and forth between the Frenchman and the child. They looked painstakingly alike, and even more astonishing was the resemblance between Alfred and Matthew. If Arthur hadn't known better, he would have easily mistaken the two. "I, um, right." He stuttered warily. "Right this way." He led them to the hallway with silent footsteps.

The atmosphere seemed to still as everyone followed apprehensively. Matthew had tightened his grip on Francis's hand, shaking ever so slightly, and Arthur wordlessly gripped the doorknob with his lips pursed. He didn't understand why he was so hesitant, but the atmosphere felt strange and unfamiliar. Connor and William looked at each other, and Mrs. Kirkland placed her hands on Rhy's shoulder, watching anxiously.

"He's caught a nasty cold, so it'd probably be best if you didn't come too close to him," Arthur prepped nervously. "He's been resting." He opened the door slowly, and everyone peered inside.

Alfred layed on the bed, tucked in a tight bundle of sheets and quilts, curled up on his side sleeping. It didn't take even a full minute for Matthew to recognize him.

"Alfred!" The boy cried out, and jumped from Francis's side to the bed. The Frenchman yelped in protest and make a quick attempt to stop him, but narrowly missed grabbing the child. He stopped as he took a good look at the two.

The two boys were nearly the same in appearance, with only subtle differences. They both appeared the same age, and while Matthew's hair had grown longer to match his caretaker's, they were of the same color as his brother's. Despite Alfred's sickly condition, the resemblance between the two was obvious. When Matthew shook his brother awake and chanted his name (Arthur had objected to this, but William's expression stopped him from voicing it), the only immediate notable difference was the coloring of the eyes. Where Alfred had blue eyes that resembled bright sunny skies, Matthew's eyes were a darker hue, taking an almost violet quality to it.

"Alfred, Alfred!" Matthew shook Alfred's shoulder frantically, merely wanting this brother to open his eyes. The young boy's eyes began to water, and he didn't try to cover up his tears as he began to cry.

Alfred moaned and scrunched his face distressedly before opening his eyes blearily. He rolled over, peering over his shoulder, and if the moment weren't so tense, it would have been hilarious to take note on how fast Alfred's eyes snapped open upon recognizing the face close at hand. The boy's face, though pale from illness, seemed to drain further.

"Mattie—!" The boy gasped, and he struggled to sit up, only to stop suddenly as coughs and hacks wracked his chest. He coughed harshly into his arms, and in his desperation to quit coughing, he only seemed to cough harder some more. He face turned red as he struggled to breath. Sharp gasping noises echoed throughout the room. Matthew sat next to him, crying.

"Okay, that's enough," Arthur interjected, and he broke the invisible barrier that divided the brothers from the rest of the room. He crossed to the bedside and rubbed circles in the boy's back firmly as Alfred struggled to dispose of the mucus in his lungs.

Francis immediately tugged on Matthew's shirt, pulling him back away from the two sickly people. _"Mathieu, no. Don't get close to them. They are sick," _He warned in French.

Matthew began to snivel and stared at his brother longingly, who also squirmed in Arthur's arms. _"I want to be with him. I want my brother," _He whimpered in reply, gazing unhappily with bright watery orbs at the Frenchman. Francis' face twisted in sympathy.

As the coughing subsided, Rhys finally raised his voice quietly in the room. "Why don't we sit for tea?" He proposed.

* * *

><p>Everyone took a seat at the wooden table in the kitchen as Mrs. Kirkland prepared tea. Francis folded his hands on the table before him and twiddled his thumbs uncertainly as his eyes wandered around the room. Reluctantly, he left Matthew alone with his brother in the room despite his reasoning, seeing as Matthew had unlocked a stubborn characteristic that insisted he stay. The boy only persistently insisted and tugged on Francis' coat half-heartedly, refusing to be even dragged out of the room. Thankfully, he hadn't thrown a tantrum in front of all the strangers, but it was more than Francis had ever seen from the boy before. He was hesitant (and he still didn't like the idea), but he relented uneasily. Seeing the other boy, Alfred, in such an ill condition brought back fresh memories of how Francis came to meet Matthew.<p>

It wasn't ideal conditions, to say at the very least.

Nonetheless, he waited patiently for his tea as he glanced at the faces around the table. They were similar, not mirror images like the boys, but it was clear they were all related. They all seemed to possess the trait of unusually thick eyebrows. It strange and almost comical to look at, but Francis had to admit it was surprisingly not unattractive. It seemed to frame each of their faces well. Gazing upon the youngest, Francis was startled to find that Arthur, he recalled, was scrutinizing him coldly.

He looked away, jutting his chin out ever so slightly, affronted.

British people were so rude.

It was silent in the room as everyone looked away from each other. Finally, Mrs. Kirkland came with the tray of tea and asked politely, "So Francis, where are you from in France?"

Rhys relayed the question. "He says he's from Paris."

"That's nice," she continued conversationally. Her French speaking skills were lost in time. "And what brings you here in Britain?"

Rhys translated.

"_Mon ami et moi sommes à la recherche de quelqu'un," _ he replied somewhat stiffly.

"Poor bugger looks on edge," Connor whispered amusedly.

"He's probably not used to conversing with 'commoners' like us," Arthur sneered back. "Did you see the way he was eyeing our house and our clothes? How French."

Rhys rested his elbows on the table, ignoring the mocking whispers of his brothers. "He said he and his friend are looking for someone, but he seems very private about it."

"He lost his baggage at the train station, didn't he? Offer him to stay here!"

Arthur and Connor nearly spit out their tea, and Mrs. Kirkland didn't hesitate from slapping them upside the head. Arthur winced, and he swore he saw the Frenchman smirk. He looked incredulous at his mother.

"Seeing as Alfred and Matthew _are _related, it'd be cruel to separate them. Also, Francis and…Matthew…lost their bags and don't have anywhere to stay. It's only polite to offer our residence until they get settled or meet their friend for whatever it is they are doing. I'm sure Alfred would like it." She gave a pointed look to Arthur, who looked away.

Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something…boastful about the Frenchman that he didn't like. Haughty. Almost as if he thought he were a king, and everyone else was merely his servant or not worth his time.

Or maybe that was just the French.

Either way, it was irritating to be around, and Arthur had only been near the man for a short two hours at most. Couldn't they just keep the boy and kick out the man? He scowled to himself as Rhys relayed the offer in French.

Francis appeared hesitant at first, but probably regarding his current situation, accepted it.

_He didn't have to look so damned pained about it, _Arthur sulked.

"We're going to have to figure out sleeping arrangements," William spoke up.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day passed agonizingly slow, with everyone shuffling around the house awkwardly in a quiet atmosphere. Mrs. Kirkland had been an incredibly welcoming hostess, offering clean clothes to both Matthew and Francis to wear for the time being. A light rain pattered on the roof, and the despondent weather was gloomier than ever as winter approached deeper towards the end of November.<p>

The whole time, well into the night, Matthew remained at Alfred's side. The two had conversed about something or other for hours, and seemed content at merely staying in each other's presence. Matthew had cried solidly for the first hour he was finally allowed to talk to Alfred, and it was obvious Alfred was holding back tears too as both boys clung to each other.

Arthur didn't mind the reunion; it was touching and it made him grow weak at the scene, but it wasn't until he overheard a particularly conversation that confirmed his fears.

"_Please," _a soft voice pleaded from inside the room. It was Matthew's. _"Please, Alfred." _Arthur stopped mid-step in the hallway, pausing at the door. He perked at the conversation.

A hesitant reply. _"I don't know Mattie…" _Coughs followed.

"_He's really nice," _came the response, and Arthur pressed himself lightly against the door, peering through the crack . _"He isn't anything like before."_

Alfred shrank, frightened by whatever was implied. Arthur's hand clenched against the door, as sudden suspicions arose. Not anything like before? Had Francis been the one to hurt Alfred? Arthur gritted his teeth painfully.

"_He won't hurt you," _Matthew promised, and when no response came immediately, he took a desperate tone. _"Please Alfred! Come with Francis and I!" _A pause. _"I don't want you to disappear again," _came the heartbroken plea.

A silence stretched out, and Arthur's heart nearly leapt into his throat as fear and rejection twisted an ugly knot in his chest. His heart thudded painfully, and suddenly it felt as if his breathing were the loudest thing in the house as he waited for Alfred's reply. He nearly gave up until he heard Alfred's soft mumble, _"But I like Arthur…"_

Arthur smiled and felt his knees grow weak as hope blossomed in his chest. However, it didn't completely quell his fears. Had Francis been the one to hurt Alfred? If so, why hadn't he hurt Matthew? Did he favor Matthew over the other, causing Alfred to run away? There were more questions than answers, and the most pressing one on Arthur's mind was would Francis want to take him back?

_No, _Arthur though to himself as panic began to rise. He couldn't afford to let the one thing that made him happy be taken away by a possible abusive father. He knew he wasn't any good at it, but he definitely had still done a pretty good job with Alfred so far, right? Despite their current predicament, they were surviving well enough on their own until now, right? A careless mistake shouldn't be reprimanded by God so harshly, _right_?

_Oh Lord, don't do this to me, _Arthur pleaded silently to himself, clenching his eyes shut in desperate prayer. He had done a lot of stupid things in his past, but surely he could make up for it? _Please, of everything I've ever asked you, don't let Alfred be taken away from me._

_Especially from a potential abusive Frenchmen! _

Almost as if on cue, Francis appeared in the hallway, staring at Arthur questioningly with obvious suspicion in his eyes. Arthur stepped away from the door, aware of what it looked like, and mustered up an ugly glare towards the Frenchman. Francis's expression soured in response.

"_Que faites-vous?" _Francis asked slowly. Arthur raised an eyebrow, aware what the Frenchman was asking, but refusing to speak the language. He stepped towards the door, but Arthur stepped in front of it guardingly.

"What are you doing?" He asked warningly.

"_Que faites-vous? C'est l'heure du coucher pour Matthew." _Francis replied back, growing irritated. His hand pushed the door open behind Arthur, and he had no choice but to step back or fall over.

"_Matthieu, il est temps de se coucher." _Francis called paternally. Matthew looked over painstakingly.

"_Mais je veux rester avec Alfred, " _came the soft response.

"_Non, il est tard." _Francis said, clapping his hands. _"Vous avez besoin de dormir." _He gave Matthew a stern look, who complied easily, looking downtrodden. Francis sighed. _"Vous pouvez parler à Alfred demain." _

Matthew looked up hopefully, and gave his confused brother one last, tight hug before departing slowly, unwilling to leave. Francis waved him over with his hand, and Matthew took it, stealing one last longing glance at Alfred.

"Goodnight, Alfred. I'll see you tomorrow!" His soft voice called, as if stating a promise. Alfred waved weakly back, struggling to suppress a cough.

Arthur eyed the door warily, involuntarily glaring at the back of the Frenchman. He slipped into bed next to Alfred, who made room for him, staring into space intensely. Arthur raised a brow.

"Are you alright, lad?" He asked uncertainly.

Alfred blinked, looking unusually awake and tired at the same time. The boy shrugged. Arthur frowned and blew out the light, and Alfred shivered as he burrowed himself under the covers.

The cold night expanded before them in the darkness, and the silence was stifling. Arthur layed still, waiting for sleep to hit, but was too distracted for his mind to relax. Sensing Alfred was still awake, he tentatively turned and broke the silence.

"Alfred?" He whispered softly.

"Yes?" The boy breathed back.

Arthur paused. "Do you like living with me?"

He felt the words before he heard them. "Yes, I like you Arthur!" Alfred murmured in agreeable response. The answer was so quick and warm sounding that Arthur felt guilty for even questioning it. He nodded, satisfied with the answer. Alfred was an honest child, affectionately so, so Arthur didn't doubt it even the slightest. Hearing it aloud made him smile though, making him feel important and wanted. His smile faded at another thought.

"Alfred," he began again, and without waiting, asked, "Do you remember your parents?" When the silence stretched on for a minute or so, he followed, "Is Francis your…father?"

Alfred paused, letting the words sink into the night. "No," He replied slowly, and coughed a hoarse sounding choke. Wheezing, his light voice continued, "I've never seen him before."

Arthur released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Relieved, he tentatively questioned, "What about your mum and dad? Do you remember them?"

Alfred remained thoughtfully quiet, though whether it was sorrowfully so, Arthur couldn't tell in the dark. He longed for some way to be comforting, but could not think of any way of displaying it. Instead, he waited anxiously.

"I don't remember my dad," Alfred whispered, and was again interrupted by violent sounding coughs, this time continuing for several minutes. Alarmed, Arthur sat the boy up to finish his coughing fit, followed by loud gasping in the still night as the boy struggled to breath the proper intake of air. Arthur winced, and they layed back down after the fit.

"Mum," Alfred croaked, his eyes watering. "I-I can't remember. I think she had pretty light brown hair. It's hard," he mumbled exhaustedly, weary from earlier's exertion.

"What happened to her?" Arthur asked gently, turning to face the small child. A heavy weight began to settle lightly over the two boys, but Arthur refused to acknowledge it as of now. There were too many questions, and they had already made progress answering them.

"I don't know," Alfred sniffed. "She was with us one day…and then she disappeared." He sniffed again, trembling.

"Oh, lad…" Arthur whispered, unsure of how to respond, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair several times. He was startled to hear a whimper elicit from next to him. Upon running his fingers across Alfred's face, he found wet tears greet his hands.

"Alfred!" Arthur exclaimed softly in alarm. He turned squarely to the boy, sitting up and leaning on his elbow. "What's wrong?" He questioned distressfully.

Alfred sniveled, and wiped his tears messily. "I-I miss my m-mom," he sobbed, curling into a ball in the bed. He struggled to silence his weeping, but instead choked on his tears instead of stopping them. "I miss her, a-and she left."

Arthur, at a loss, wrapped himself around the boy, cocooning the two of them together in a tight embrace. He couldn't make up for the loss, that much was sure, but he could be present for the boy. Strong arms held the child, and soon a pair of small arms hugged back. "Shh, be still. She didn't leave you," Arthur murmured comfortingly, but he was unsure of the truth in his words. The child shuddered.

"Angry. S-she was angry-!" Came Alfred's muffled bawls, and suddenly Arthur chillingly understood the boy's general paranoia and pleads from the previous week's misadventure.

"_I'm s-sorry, Arthur, d-don't be angry!"_

"_P-please don't leave me! I'll be good! I'll listen!"_

He had anxiety and fear of being left behind. With the disappearance of his whole family (his father gone? His mother leaving? And the separation of the brother?), he had naturally come to dread the thought of being alone and angering others. It was no wonder he was so submissive, and often gave the appearance of a kicked puppy upon Arthur's leaving for work.

He had watched Arthur leave, and expected him to not come back.

He spent hours a day by himself, waiting for a return.

He was overly affectionate, and feared the rejection of others.

It broke Arthur's heart.

"It's alright, love. I'm here, I'll always be here," Arthur murmured, and wrapped his arms around the child. It was amazing how much a simple hug could do for Alfred, Arthur had realized sometime later, but it seemed to comfort him, as if a physical shield of protection and warmth. Alfred himself had stifled his tears, and between the lull of Arthur's heartbeat and comforting back rubs, he dozed off into a heavy sleep. He trembled slightly.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair.

Some things were impossible to fix.

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><p><strong>BLEHHH. <strong>

**Sorry for any grammatical errors. I wanted to upload before I changed my mind on the length/content of the chapter. I seriously stress out over that too much. (Perfectionist? Me? Nooooo.)**

**Alright, until next time! Peace out!**

**Reviews make me want to write! /hint hint ;D My inbox gets pretty lonely guys hahaha.**


	11. Chapter 11

**HEY GUYS. Who thought I was dead? I am SO sorry for the amount of time it took to update this. Last year was ridiculously busy school wise, and I already know this year is going to be even more difficult…**

**Important note at the bottom!**

**Nonetheless, sorry for the wait! Enjoy.**

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><p><em>It was an unusually cool day in the summertime, and clouds littered the sky with only few rays of sunshine peeking through, teasing the world with light and shade, vacillating between the two as the hours stretched on. It was dark for daytime, and the scent of wet earth filled the air as a light breeze fluttered through the wide windows of a large boarding house. <em>

_Alfred shivered as he dipped his ragged washcloth back into the now-lukewarm water basin, wringing it twice before lobbing the rag back against the long wooden floor, scrubbing slowly and tiredly. The hall room was scattered with boys and girls in similar positions, all on their hands and knees scrubbing profusely at any given spot. Another bone chilling breeze floated through the room, and a few feet away from him, Matthew sneezed. Alfred paused, and he wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead exhaustedly, leaning back on his heels. _

_As if on time, the midday bell chimed somewhere eerily in the background, and dozens of eager, weary eyes looked hopefully to the front of the room. _

_An older boy, roughly around the age of seventeen stepped forward, and held his arms out as he projected his voice, "Alright, stop! Everyone is to gather their basins and rags to the back of the house to dump the excess water. Stack them neatly and orderly in the back corner, and then proceed to your rooms to change for Church. Meet back in the main hall with warm clothes in precisely ten minutes time. Don't be late!"_

_Alfred looked and Matthew uncertainly, struggling to keep up with the older boy's command. The way he spoke was different than anything either of the boys had ever heard, and they were still reeling from the foreign accent, people, and culture. Tentatively, they hefted each of their basins, both nearly half their size, and lugged them to the back doors along with the rest of the crowd. _

"_What are we doing?" Matthew's small voice asked confusedly, as he struggled to keep hold of the heavy tub of water. He sniffed, coughing softly. "I couldn't understand him."_

"_I think we're going to Church," Alfred responded warily over the loud murmur of the group. "He spoke funny," the boy commented as he reached the crowd of children, all anxiously waiting to unload the water. Alfred struggled to peer ahead, but the large crowd and height of the other children prevented him from seeing much of anything. Once outside, he dropped the heavy basin exhaustedly, and lifted one handle to dump out all the dirty, soapy water. _

"_Funny?" An older, slightly deeper voice repeated from behind him. "An' who d'you fink is talkin' funny, you dumb Yank?"_

_Alfred turned around slowly; he looked up owlishly to a mean faced, older boy. A second boy, taller but lankier, stepped from beside the first boy, and they glared at Alfred harshly. Matthew shrank back timidly. _

"_Are you makin' fun of my accen'?" The boy asked, drawing himself up to his full height, nearly a foot or so taller than Alfred. _

"_I fink 'e is, look at 'im, gettin' all silent and all 'cuz he's been found out. He's makin' bloody fun of us."_

"_You havin' a right good time with that then, mate?" The boy leaned down to Alfred's face, and scowled, "Why don' you say in to m'face then." Matthew gripped Alfred's arm painfully, but Alfred could hardly feel it past the fear that burrowed itself in his paralyzed state. _

"_You stupid Yanks are a bloody waste of food and space."_

_A loud clasp of a hand landed on both of the boys' shoulders, roughly pulling the two away from Alfred and Matthew. The older boy who gave directions earlier spun the two around severely. _

"_Jim! George! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" The older teen demanded angrily. His grip increased on the shoulders, and each boy winced painfully, defiance slowly leaking from their expressions. _

"_They were makin' fun of us and how we talk! They were talkin' rubbish about us behind our backs!" _

"_That's not what it looked like," the older teen retorted. "Jim, you are not in charge, so do your damn best to stop acting like you are. And George, stop being a bloody idiot and encouraging fights, or I'll have to send you both to Ms. Greene."_

"_Shove off, Tom," Jim retorted angrily, pulling himself out of the older boy's grip. Tom glared at them icily, and said, "Next time I see you harassing the younger ones again I'll have you reported. Now do shut up and finish your bloody chores already." _

_The two boys stalked off crossly, and the remaining children watched them go. Once out of sight, the older boy turned back to Alfred and Matthew with a gentler expression. "Don't mind them, lads. They hate new orphans, and they hate not being in charge even more. It's best to avoid them as much as possible. My name is Tom, by the way."_

_Alfred and Matthew peered up gratefully at Tom, speechless. "T-thank you," Alfred stuttered, his face pale, eyes flickering across the ground. _

"_It's okay mates, you two will get used to England and the accent soon enough. I can understand the confusion. Come on."_

_As all three, now the last remaining people in the room, exited, Tom looked sympathetically to the two Yankees. Too polite and knowing to inquire of their current situation, he said comfortingly, "Me mum was a Yank as well. Straight from New England. Or so I've heard, anyway. I've read about it, and it sounds fascinating."_

_A draft in the room caused both young boys to shiver, and Alfred said weakly, "It's cold here."_

_Tom laughed. "That's England for you. I hear America is blisteringly hot this time of year. Now get dressed warmly, and don't be late. We leave for Church in approximately seven."_

_Meeting back with all the other children nearly five minutes later, Alfred and Matthew clung to Tom shyly. Breaking away only to let the older boy speak with the nuns, they scarcely left his side. The large crowd of children gathered in the street noisily and the nuns and the boys second in charge gave directions. As the group finally commenced their trip, Tom apologized to the boys._

"_I'm afraid I won't accompany you this trip," he said sympathetically. Glancing to the next group over, he explained, "I need to watch over that group, along with Jim and George." Rolling his eyes, he continued supportively, "You boys will be fine, okay? Be sure to keep with the group, and if you have any questions, ask James, he'll help." Turning off, he gave them a small wave before leaving._

_Alfred and Matthew watched the older boy leave apprehensively. Matthew clung to Alfred's arm nervously, effectively eliciting a wince from Alfred. The younger twin averted his eyes downwards, mumbling a soft apology, knowing exactly the cause of injury._

_The large group of orphans, in their poor tattered clothing, took the long walk to Church surprisingly cheerfully, and despite the confusion and antsy silence during Church, there was something strange in the air, something that Alfred could not quite pick up on. Something not entirely genuine._

_Unfortunately, Matthew had fallen asleep during prayer and was dragged away by the ear from an alarmed Alfred; his punishment was a light scolding, and supervision from the older boy two aisles away. Fortunately, James accepted his presence nonchalantly, and seemed not at all bothered by the extra responsibility. In his graciousness, he offered Matthew a handkerchief to cough into, which the boy took gratefully with strained, watery eyes. _

_Now in two separate groups yet again, nearly two hours later, Alfred walked by himself silently, observing the clamor of the other children. Girls chattered with each other hushed and excitedly, and boys chased each other around the groups despite the nuns' exasperated protests. The older boys managed to get a hand on the runners, and yanked them roughly by the collars, choking them temporarily to enforce obedience. Alfred swallowed, heart beating quicker at the scene._

_From the corner of his eyes, a girl and a boy he had never seen before, surreptitiously pulled on a cap and bonnet, slipping to the back of the group. Alfred paused curiously, watching the spectacle. Quickly out of sight, they approached a nearby bread stand slyly. _

_The girl inquired sweetly of the food, chatting with the seller, while curiously, Alfred thought, the other boy slid around the back and grabbed several loaves of bread. However, slipping the loaves in his clothes not quickly enough, the vendor turned around just in time to catch a stack of loaves falling, shedding light on the dubious thievery. _

_Alfred jumped at the earsplitting yell the baker bellowed, and both girl and boy took off sprinting frantically to get away. Even stranger, the overweight seller began to chase the two children down the street. _

_And despite Alfred's better judgment, perhaps due to the weeks of starvation and cold that had finally taken its toll, the young boy lunged forward, snatching a loaf for himself and Matthew, before running off in the other direction._

_Running off far enough in the opposite direction ultimately led back to Matthew's group, in which Alfred sighed in relief. However, his respite did not last long upon the following scene._

_The cruel boy from earlier yanked Matthew's hair painfully, before pushing the young foreigner to the ground, cackling and running off. Matthew, for some reason or another, did not get up._

"_Matt!" Alfred yelled worriedly, as he began to sprint towards his brother. "Mattie!" Just as he began to pick up ground a hand snapped forward and pulled him back by the collar, forcing the boy off balance, tumbling to the ground. _

"_And just where do you think you're going?" An old nun's shrill voice interrogated. "You don't think you're going to—" she cut off abruptly upon seeing the bread slip from Alfred's grasp. She shrieked in horror. "Thief! You're the one who's been causing trouble! We do not tolerate that, young man!"_

_Alfred scrambled to gain balance again, but to no avail as the old woman dragged him roughly behind her by the collar. Alfred gagged, finally finding his footing as his feet propelled himself forward in the same direction. He twisted around to gain one last look at Matthew concernedly, and in the midst of his struggling and the nun's yanking, he saw a tall blond man help Mattie to his feet. His mind grappled endlessly, unsure of whether to be worried or grateful at the stranger's kindness._

* * *

><p><em>Alfred's face stung bright red, bruising his left cheek and swelling his eye, making it difficult to see. In all truthfulness, he had felt far worse, but it still hurt nonetheless.<em>

_The humiliation stung almost as much as his face. The vendor growled at him menacingly, and the boy and girl from earlier were suffering similar punishments elsewhere. Alfred apologized in a small voice, but somehow realized in the midst of it that he wasn't sorry so much about taking the bread as much as he was sorry he was caught. His starving stomach refused to let his mind acknowledge the guilt that ate away his morals, so instilled by his mother. His eyes fell to the ground, grateful when it was finally over._

_He had been forced to clean dishes after supper, and the work, while seemingly endless, was not hard. Nearly every child scraped clean their plates, which minimized scrubbing. For this, Alfred was grateful._

_He inhaled his own dinner, being forced to wait until the entire hall finished their plates and after him cleaning, and trudged upstairs, finally feeling the guilt settle on his shoulders heavily when he passed a disapproving Tom. The older boy shook his head empathetically, but said nothing. It was just as well. There was nothing to be said._

_He entered the room he shared with countless other children, most of whom were crowded around a bed near the corner, whispering in hushed voices. _

_Alfred crawled in his own bed exhaustedly, dully wondering where Matthew was, when a few hushed tones floated over to him._

"—_that tall strange man, with the long hair—"_

"—_he looks wealthy, why would he want the odd one?"_

"—_the French hate Brits, of course they'd take a Yank—"_

_Alfred's ears perked upon hearing the familiar term. He sat up confusedly, looking at the group with a curious expression. They quieted after noticing his puzzled stares._

"_What?" One of the older ones finally said in irritation. _

_Alfred's heart pounded nervously in his chest. Usually he was never without his brother at this time, and he was beginning to fear all these funny sounding Britons in general, associating unpleasantness with the accent. "What are you talking about?" He asked timidly._

_The group of children looked at each other, and finally an older girl in a long nightgown said, "We think that Frenchman is purchasing your brother. We saw him carry him back here after the walk."_

"_What?" Alfred asked, bile rising in his throat. He suddenly felt incredibly nauseous, to the point where he almost felt like throwing up his dinner. _

"_Matthew wasn't at dinner at all," another boy continued. He said this not unkindly. "That man has been talking with the nuns all evening."_

_Harsh, cold, uncontrollable fear took over Alfred, and he felt an immense wave of panic hit him. He was unable to move for several moments, his lungs temporarily forgetting how to function. The room was loud with hushed chatter and silent at the same time. It felt as if air was pressuring against Alfred's head._

"_I… I, I—" Alfred stuttered as he got up. He was running before his feet hit the floor. _

_His usually light footsteps pounded across the floor, and he darted down the hallways, past lingering girls and boys, startling Tom and James somewhere along the way. Voices shouted at him, but he processed nothing. He raced down several floors, finally coming in sight of the two main doors. He crashed into the railings haphazardly, looking down the foyer as sweat beaded at his forehead despite the cold temperature. His lungs gasped for air._

_The strange Frenchman carried a sleeping Matthew, thanking the nuns repeatedly with a smiling face and accented English, holding the boy in one arm and a stack of papers and bag in another. One of the nuns opened the large woodened doors graciously while the two exited, the door closing with a soft click. The sound resonated in Alfred's heart, and horror struck him harder than any physical blow._

"_MATTIE! MATTIE!" Alfred shrieked. "Mattie! Please! Mattie, come back! Don't leave me here!" _

_He nearly stumbled down the stairs, but hands reached out of nowhere, and pulled him back, preventing him from running after the two. Tom, James, and several others rushed to the scene and immediately attempted to restrain the frantic boy._

_He screamed, latching on the railings with a deathlike grip. A flurry of shouting and hands snapped at him, grabbing and pulling as much of him as possible. His flailing did no good as more and more hands reinforced the previous._

"_No! No! No! No!" Alfred howled fearfully, finally sobbing. His fingers were eventually pried from the railings, and the last thing the boy remembered was the constant streaming of hands continuing to pile on and restrict his movement, pushing him down to the floor, a blur of faces coming together to hover over his, looking appalled by the madness of his behavior—_

* * *

><p>Alfred jolted awake, stirring to find himself in a similar situation. His heart raced.<p>

Hands firmly gripped his arm and chest, and several faces were peering from above him. He recognized Arthur's within a frenzied minute, but the person that stood out among the others was Rhys.

He held a knife in one hand, and gripped Alfred's arm in the other.

"Stop!" Alfred cried, yanking his arm out of the grip, startling all of the Kirkland brothers. Rhys nearly fell off balance, and Connor and William wrenched him backwards to prevent him from falling (and possibly impaling) Arthur and Alfred.

Sitting up, Alfred buried his arm in his lap alarmed, looking at Arthur in betrayal, hurt, and confusion. He shrank away from Arthur.

"It's okay, relax, lad," Arthur immediately consoled, wrapping an arm around the boy. He winced at the situation, realizing exactly how wrong it looked to the boy. He feared any ground he may have picked up with the boy relationship-wise may have been lost in the fear and confusion upon awakening. "They're only trying to help you get better," Arthur promised earnestly. Looking towards his brothers, Arthur asked in a strained voice, "Are you sure about this?" He could feel the boy's heart racing against his side, and felt guilty.

"It's the last thing I can think of," Rhys apologized sympathetically. "It's a bit outdated, but in previous decades, doctors believed cutting a small area on the upper arm would improve illness. God knows if it works, but it's the only option we have left."

"Bleeding out the sickness," William repeated. "It worked sometimes, or so they've said."

Arthur frowned, and glanced back down at the boy at his side. Alfred trembled, sweating faintly at the forehead, clearly shaken from whatever he was dreaming and the whole knife ordeal. It was not often one was greeted with a knife in the face so early in the morning. Arthur vaguely wondered about the cuts on the boy's back, but knew that had long healed since then. Alfred's eyes darted between the four of them, gazing on Arthur's last, still holding a betrayed albeit trusting expression. Arthur grimaced, and squeezed the boy's shoulder.

"I suppose it's all we can do," he said finally. Gently, he said, "Alfred, you're going to have to trust me; we're doing this for you." Softly, he pulled Alfred's arm from the boy's chest. Alfred relented slowly and warily, allowing Rhys to hold his arm and roll up his sleeve.

"It's better if the knife is sharp," William commented anxiously, peering over his brother's shoulder. Alfred jerked his arm, and Rhys instinctively tightened his hold, eliciting a whimper from the younger.

"Not too sharp, otherwise you'll damn well slice the boy's arm clean off," Connor replied nervously. Rhys furrowed his brow.

"It's clean, right?"

"Shut up!" Arthur barked. "You're frightening the lad! Alfred, don't look at it, it'll only make it worse." To emphasize this, Arthur pressed the boy's face to his chest, directing the boy's view away from the others. Alfred buried his face into Arthur's clothes, suddenly hyperaware of everything going on in his pounding heart and exposed arm.

Carefully, Rhys sliced a small cut in Alfred's upper arm, deep enough to draw enough blood, but shallow enough to prevent excessive bleeding. He sighed in relief, not realizing how stressful it was until after. He squeezed the boy's arm, drawing a good stream of blood to ooze out from the makeshift wound. Alfred peeked at his arm from Arthur's chest, still trembling. Everyone stared at the wound.

"Now what?" Connor questioned.

It was uncomfortably silent.

"I suppose we just…wait," William offered with a shrug. Arthur rolled his eyes, and pulled out a handkerchief to dab at the cut. Alfred watched him warily as he tied the cloth around the wound.

"Let's go get something to eat, shall we?" Arthur suggested, and Alfred clambered delicately on his back. His ankle, while mostly healed, was still fragile and had to be moved slowly and gently.

* * *

><p>"You boys had better get a hold of Mr. Bonnefoy's bags today," Mrs. Kirkland announced to everyone as she brought a basket of food to the table. Wiping her hands on her apron, she unfolded the cloth and revealed a pile of warm bread. Hands dug in eagerly.<p>

Francis said nothing at the table, appearing to not have understood anything at all. He tentatively picked up a loaf and began ripping it into small pieces for Matthew, murmuring something softly to the boy.

"I can't," William announced. "I've promised I'd meet Mary. Someone else will have to do it."

"I'm coming with," Connor followed quickly. "I want to meet Mary, properly this time."

"I'm not," Rhys deadpanned. "I've other things to be done and I'd need to keep an eye on his wound." He motioned to Alfred's arm. He quickly buried his face in the newspaper, and it was clear to his brothers that he was smug he shirked the duty.

"Wait, what?" Arthur questioned suddenly, having half-listened to the conversation. "Rhys, you were the bloody designated translator!"

"Oh come off it, your French is pristine! You live in the city!"

"And what exactly does that have to do with anything?"

"Belt up, Arthur," William interjected exasperatedly, "This is for Alfred too, y'know. His brother's…guardian is missing their things. Be a gentleman an' help out his family."

"You be a gentleman," Arthur scowled softly, knowing he was acting like a child but stubbornly refusing to care. He sighed, peeking at the Frenchman, who was paying them no attention. "I was going to try a new recipe and cook a stew," He sighed remorsefully.

Connor choked on his tea, sputtering. "My God, you had better leave soon, daylight doesn't last all day y'know."

"I think we'd better leave now as well, now that y'mention it, Connor," William conceded quickly, bumping his knee into the table as he quickly exited the room.

"Of course," Connor agreed, nearly falling over himself as he followed suit.

"I don't think that will be quite necessary today, Arthur," Mrs. Kirkland said gently and somewhat forcefully. She smiled. "Though I think your brothers are right, you and Francis should leave soon."

"I suppose," Arthur compromised, confused at the sudden scramble for everyone to leave. "Perhaps I can assist with dinner tonight?"

"I—of course," she said. "Now do go, I think William and Connor have left you two the horses."

Arthur furrowed his eyes at the sudden urgency of the whole situation, but said nothing of it, brushing it off simply. They were right anyhow; the sooner, the better.

"I suppose it's in order," he began tentatively. "Yes," he said, gaining confidence. "I'll go get my coat. No use arguing about it any longer."

It didn't take long to get everything ready for yet another trip to the city; Francis had been stiffly relayed the message by Rhys (as Arthur somehow managed to leave the room in time), and acquiesced wordlessly. The Frenchman was still wary of leaving Matthew behind, but saw no valid reason to drag him out in the cold alongside him. No, it was best for him to stay in the confinement of a warm, protected house. He still held no great amount of trust for the Britons, but he could not deny the evidence supporting the blood relations between Matthew and his new-found brother. Francis pulled on his thick overcoat silently, and searched for Matthew's eyes.

The boy sat at the table next to his sickly brother, something Francis still winced at, but it couldn't be helped. Any forced separation would be cruel. Matthew offered him a small, vulnerable look.

"_I will be back," _Francis murmured softly, extending his arm out in a weak wave. Matthew nodded. _"Do not cause any trouble," _he repeated, despite knowing the boy was nearly incapable of it. He turned, and followed the Briton out the door, and the other brother (Rhys, was it?) closed it softly behind him.

Arthur exited the stables, holding two horses by the reigns. He offered one to Francis.

"_You know how to ride, _oui?" Arthur asked neutrally in French.

Francis took the reigns from the man stiffly. His pride was still offended from the previous night, and he disliked the Briton's suspicious aggression towards him.

"Oui," he replied briskly, mounting his horse easily, trotting towards the edge of the premises. Arthur raised a brow, but mounted his horse just as quickly and followed suit.

The air was thick with tension, nearly as visible as the overcast clouds in the sky. They had been traveling in dead silence for nearly twenty minutes, and as much as Arthur hated to admit it, he was wrong to judge the Frenchman so quickly the night before. Of course it was natural to immediately think Francis was potentially the abusive father figure (and wouldn't anyone else react the same way?) but Arthur realized he probably could have taken a less aggressive stance towards the man, instead of jumping on his preconceived misconceptions.

His mind flip-flopped as he struggled to gather enough courage. He cleared his throat awkwardly and called, "Francis."

The Frenchman looked over disdainfully, raising a brow. Arthur pursed his lips, slightly taken aback.

He might have deserved that, but it still didn't feel good.

"_I may have misjudged you earlier last night, and mistaken you for someone else." _A pause. "Je suis désolé."

Francis said nothing for a long time, and Arthur was beginning to wonder whether the man even heard him or not. Or perhaps he was intentionally ignoring Arthur's apology, and at this thought Arthur gritted his teeth, because Goddamn the bloody French for always acting so damn high and mighty, he knew he shouldn't have bothered—

"_I accept," _the man replied back, but he didn't look at Arthur. Arthur felt a twinge of annoyance at this, but he rolled his eyes. He said his apology, so now he had no reason to feel any guilt.

"_I suppose it is natural for the British to think they are always right, when most of the time they are not. It cannot be helped," _Francis smirked.

Arthur furrowed his brow, translating everything quickly from French to English. He felt his face go hot, and he gripped the reins to stop himself from lashing out.

"_Anyhow," _he gritted with mocked politeness, trying his best to ignore the comment. Bloody French people. _"How have you…come to own Matthew?" _Arthur asked innocently, suppressing a small smirk. He knew much more than the Frenchman thought he did.

Francis blinked in shock, gripping the reins. _"I don't know what you're talking about." _

Arthur swelled upon Francis's suspicion. _"I know for a fact that Matthew is not related to you. Alfred himself said he's never seen you before. Who are you exactly to either of them?"_

"_That is not of your concern."_

"_Look," _Arthur interjected. _"I understand that you mistrust me because I am a stranger. But something isn't right about these two. Do you not find it a little strange, that two young Americans are lost in Britain without any known family? And they've been separated, and brought back together by pure, God-granting luck. If you happen to know anything, anything at all, I implore you to share. Perhaps we can piece together what is going on."_

Francis pondered at the Briton's outburst. It did make sense, but he wasn't so keen on sharing anything of himself.

"_Have you ever considered asking the boy?"_

Arthur paused. He had never really thought to ask directly, because the boy was absolutely evasive on the matter. Especially as they became more comfortable with each other, Arthur was hesitant to jeopardize their relationship at the subject. It was an ugly matter, and who wanted to be reminded of it? The few times Arthur did ask usually resulted in distressed silence, which would last anywhere from a few hours to a day. Like the ugly wounds on Alfred's skin, as they disappeared so did any of Arthur's questioning. Alfred seemed eager almost, to move on. Even until last night, Arthur hadn't fully comprehended that the boy might still be grieving.

He was blinded by the boy's overwhelming affection. He hadn't even thought it might have been to shield the boy's grief.

Was he merely a replacement figure then?

Arthur's shoulders sagged as he grasped this new thought. He felt the edges of his heart crumble as sadness licked the surface of his being, but he pushed the thoughts away to continue the conversation.

"_I haven't gotten much back in response." _He mumbled back in French.

Francis raised a brow at the Englishman's sudden dismay. Clearly seeing the Englishman's inner turmoil, he couldn't help but acquiesce, frowning slightly. If Alfred was anything like Matthew, then he could understand clearly the weight of the situation and Arthur's distressed need to know more. Matthew was painfully shy and a near mess of bawling emotion the day he had adopted the boy, and coupled with his frightful illness, Francis had never bothered the ask. He merely assumed the boy's orphan life was normal (as normal as could be), and threw out the old and on with the new. Matthew never talked about it either, shifting into long bouts of muted shy, silence. When Francis had finally gotten the small blond to open up to him, he found he didn't care much about the past, with so much potential for the future of them.

"_I had adopted Mathieu from some orphanage in –-shire a few months ago. I was unaware he had a brother."_

"_You thought nothing of his American accent?" _Arthur inquired, raising a brow.

"_We speak mostly in French. He's a bright child," _Francis boasted. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"_You didn't think to ask him about his life previously?" _Arthur pressed incredulously.

"_Did you?" _Francis challenged.

Arthur paused. "No," he retorted. _ "I found the boy on my doorstep. I nearly—", _he immediately stopped himself, reddening as he realized his slip of information.

Francis looked at Arthur dubiously. _"You found him on your doorstep?"_

Arthur mentally cursed his defensiveness. There was something about the French frog that just felt so aggressive; anyhow, it was too late to back track, and he just lost a bit of his superiority in the situation.

"_Yes," _Arthur conceded. May as well share. _"I didn't anticipate…actually adopting the boy. I don't know. It was all a real blur."_

"_You kept him without official orphanage papers? Someone could be looking for him!"_

Arthur reddened further, feeling cornered. He hated this, but Francis was right. _"Well, he had scars and burns on himself! Whoever had him previously clearly did not treat him properly. I wasn't about to just toss him back into the streets!"_

Francis looked at him gravely. _"You know people consider them property, yes? Someone could be looking for him. Legally, you might have stolen him. He's a foreign immigrant, undocumented."_

Arthur blood ran cold at the thought of this. However, he refused to show anything. Swallowing, he said with mock confidence, _"There's no one looking for him. There's been no posters or search warrant for him. He's under my protection and care."_

Francis frowned. Despite his harsh questioning, he found he did care for the well-being of the boy. (And the Briton, he supposed, but definitely to a lesser extent.)

The Frenchman sighed. But the sudden release of information bothered him; he asked tentatively, "_He had…..burns?"_

Arthur nodded solemnly. _"And bruises. Doesn't…Matthew?"_

Francis looked horrified._ "None overtly abusive…or that I've been aware of."_

The two sat in silence for a while longer, as the information dawned upon the two of them. Why was one child abused and not the other? Why did Alfred receive the brunt of the abuse? And what were they doing in Europe?

Candidly, Arthur asked, _"So you know nothing about the boy's previous life? Nothing at all?"_

Francis shrugged lightly. _"I did not adopt Mathieu to talk about the past. I adopted him to begin a new future. Perhaps, one day, he may wish to tell me, but until then, we focus on building a better life for the present. We cannot change what has happened, but every day is a new day to move forward."_

Arthur frowned.

He wasn't sure if the Frenchman's philosophy rang true in his heart.

* * *

><p>The reached the station without any major difficulty outside of speed and time. There was an unspoken agreement in which Arthur was to ask the station officials of lost baggage, and as he did so, Francis held on to the horses patiently and quietly.<p>

"What the bloody hell do you mean, they've been taken?" Arthur demanded angrily. He slammed his hands flat against the station counter, a loud echo reverberating throughout the station center. "Who the hell checked them out?"

"Please low'r yer voice, sir," the burly Scottish man snapped. The younger red-headed Scotsman (the one dealing with the brunt of the Englishman's anger), paled frantically.

"I'm sorry sir, but the bags checked out under Francis Bonnefoy have already been picked up. We don't know where they are now." The young man swallowed nervously.

"Isn't there any sort of identification that goes on here?" Arthur demanded. He spun around, looking across and around the station. People passed everywhere, making it nearly impossible to focus on any one person.

"We don't offer bag watchin' services, sir," the older Scotsman barked. If it was his intention to startle Arthur, it didn't work.

"This is the most inept system I've ever heard of. Any bloody thief could have picked up the luggage!" Arthur shouted. At this point, people were beginning to stare at the scene questioningly. For all Arthur cared, they could watch all they wanted; he wasn't so much concerned about losing Francis's bags, no, he was more concerned about the items inside.

The medicine, tucked safely away inside, to be precise.

"Sir, if you don't lower your bloody voice now, we will have to forcibly remove you from the premises!"

Arthur exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose stressfully. "Can you at least," he seethed, enunciating every word slowly and evenly. "Tell me who picked up the bags?"

The younger Scotsman looked nervously at Arthur. "We can't tell you the name of the man, but he was a tan, curly haired Spaniard. That's all." The younger man eyed Arthur up and down tensely.

Arthur blinked, straightening up slowly. He clasped his hands together, tapping his chin restrainedly.

"Thank you," he gritted. "For _all_ your help. It has been _very much_ appreciated," He bit sarcastically. He turned to leave the station.

Francis waited patiently, leaning against a railing with the horses. He stood up upon seeing Arthur approach. He raised a brow questioningly.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, ruffling up the already messy texture. _"_Francis_, I—they don't have your bags. Someone took them." _He looked apologetically at the Frenchman.

Francis stared at him blankly. Then silently, without a word, he sank down on a bench and placed his head in his hands.

"_I'm sorry, I really am," _Arthur offered helplessly. _"We'll do our best to accommodate you in any way we can." _Arthur reached a hand out to touch Francis's back, but awkwardly withdrew it.

"_I—I don't understand how this can happen." _Francis mumbled hollowly. Arthur frowned sympathetically.

"_I, well, they said a Spanish man took them. So at least if we see him, we'll be able to ask. It was probably a big mix up," _Arthur lied.

Francis propped up immediately. _"Did you say a Spanish man?"_

Arthur looked at him strangely, uncomfortable with the sudden change in expression. _"Yes?"_

Francis stood up excitedly, and Arthur stepped back warily. _"I know who it is! That is my Spanish friend, Antonio Carriedo. He has arranged to meet me here, he must have picked up my luggage!"_

Arthur frowned, feeling his grip on the situation spiral out of his understanding. "Okay," he sighed. _"So he's probably lolling about somewhere in the town, unless he's checked in somewhere…do you know when he was supposed to arrive?"_

"_Either late last night, or early this morning." _Francis replied, looking a bit more lively at the prospect of meeting his friend. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"_Well," _Arthur resigned. _"I suppose we'll have to split up to cover more ground. You go wander around the town and see if you spot him, and I'll check the local inns. We'll meet back here in, two hours?"_

Francis nodded, rolling his eyes, much to Arthur's irritation. He was well aware he sounded bossy to the Frenchman, but seeing as he was more equipped to handle Scotland than Francis (linguistically wise, at the very least), it made more sense for him to direct the orders. He was doing this out of the goodness of his heart—_okay, maybe not exactly—_to help Francis—_Alfred's brother's caretaker, really—_but at the end of the day, he was doing a good deed, even if the core of his motivation was elsewhere.

Another long day with long social interaction it seemed. So much for a vacation.

* * *

><p><strong>I will never be satisfied with my writing. This can be either a good thing, or a very discouraging thing.<strong>

**Anyhow, I feel like it's important I address this issue and let you know: I've been transitioning out of the Hetalia fandom for a while now (the past year to be exact), and I cannot even begin to express how melancholic I feel about it. :( There's absolutely nothing worse than knowing you are becoming less and less passionate about something despite conscious efforts to stay. It's really difficult when Himaruya's been gone for over a year now, the show finished, and most of the fandom seems to have moved on. (Has the Bloodbath of 2011 even finished?!) Also, I've gotten incredibly picky when it comes to APH fanfiction since I've been in the fandom for 3+ years, so that sucks. I can't stand it when people misinterpret a character or rehash the same trope over and over again. The muse has really died down, and even while Himaruya finally seems to be updating his blog again, it's been so long and so scarce. :/ **

**This has been the best, most fun fandom I have ever been into, and I can wholeheartedly say this show got me into history and reshaped the way I see the world, people, and even politics. The characters are absolutely dynamic, multi-faceted, and loveable, and this is the most creative fandom I've ever been a part of. I really miss the wonder of characters and history and I really don't want to lose my passion for it, but it's not really something I can control. It's like sitting in a movie theater after the show is over, and most of the crowd has trickled out. **

**That being said, Hetalia holds a special place in my heart, and I'm doing my best to keep up with it. It is no longer my primary fandom/series, but I love my nation babies. Regarding the rest of this story, I will neither confirm nor deny whether I will or will not update. I may or may not come back to it. If I do, it'll probably be a while. If not, then it has been a wonderful ride with you lovely readers. **

**Thank you all for reading up this far!**


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